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RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD 


TOflifcomfi  (KCfe^ 


NEGHBORLY  POEMS 
SKETCHES  IN  PROSE  WITH 

INTERLUDING  VERSES 
AFTERWHILES 
PIPES  O'  PAN  AT  ZEKES- 

BURY.    (Prose  and  Verse) 
RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD 
THE  FLYING  ISLANDS  OF 

THE  NIGHT 
GREEN  FIELDS  AND  RUN 

NING  BROOKS 
ARMAZINDY 
A  CHILD-WORLD 
HOME-FOLKS 
HIS  PA'S  ROMANCE  (Portrait 

by  Clay)     _ 

GREENFIELD  EDITION 

Sold  only  in  sets.   Eleven  volumes 
uniformly  bound  in  sage-green 
cloth,  gilt  top  ........  ......  $18.50 

The  same  in  half-calf  ......  27.50 

OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES 

(English  Edition) 
THE  GOLDEN  YEAR 

(English  Edition) 
POEMS  HERE  AT  HOME 
RUBAlYAT  OF  DOC  SIFERS 
THE  BOOK   OF  JOYOUS 

CHILDREN 
RILEY  CHILD-RHYMES 

(Pictures  by  Vawter) 
RILEY  LOVE-LYRICS 

(Pictures  by  Dyer) 
RILEY  FARM-RHYMES 

(Pictures  by  Vawter) 
AN  OLD  SWEETHEART  OF 

MINE    (Pictures  by  Christy) 
OUT  TO  OLD  AUNT  MARY'S 

(Pictures  by  Christy) 
A  DEFECTIVE  SANTA  GLAUS 

(Forty  Pictures  by  Relyea  and 

Vawter) 


RHYMES   OF 

CHILDHOOD 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1890, 1898,  1900, 
BY  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY. 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


£5 


TO  THE  LITTLE  NEPHEW 
HENRY    EDMUND    EITEL 


155580 


PREFATORY   NOTE 

IN  presenting  herein  the  child  dialect  upon  an 
equal  footing  with  the  proper  or  more  serious 
English,  the  conscientious  author  feels  it  neither 
his  desire  nor  province  to  offer  excuse. 

Wholly  simple  and  artless,  Nature's  children 
oftentimes  seem  the  more  engaging  for  their  very 
defects  of  speech  and  general  deportment.  We 
need  worry  very  little  for  their  futures  since  the 
All-Kind  Mother  has  them  in  her  keep. 

It  is  just  and  good  to  give  the  elegantly  trained 
and  educated  child  a  welcome  hearing.  It  is  no 
less  just  and  pleasant  to  admit  his  homely  but 
wholesome-hearted  little  brother  to  our  interest 
and  love.  J.  W.  R. 


UNIVERSITY 
^i/FORt^ 


CONTENTS 

CHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD 

PAGE 

The  Eider  of  the  Knee 2 

A  BOY'S  MOTHER 219 

A  CHILD'S  HOME — LONG  AGO 186 

AN  IMPETUOUS  RESOLVE 178 

A  NONSENSE  EHYME 167 

A  MOTHER-SONG 53 

A  PASSING  HAIL 191 

A  PROSPECTIVE  GLIMPSE s  161 

A  SLEEPING  BEAUTY .    .  210 

A  SUDDEN  SHOWER 179 

AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE 213 

BABE  HERRICK 120 

BABYHOOD 105 

BABY'S  DYING 93 

BILLY  COULD  EIDB 199 

BILLY  GOODIN' 189 

BUSCH  AND  TOMMY 117 

CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY 78 

CHRISTMAS  AFTERTHOUGHT 27 

CURLY  LOCKS ,.,,,,,  163 

DUSK-SONG— THE  BEETLE 103 

ENVOY 232 

EXCEEDING  ALL  ....••••••••    69 

GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS    .    •    . 124 

GUINEY-PIGS 115 

• 

IX 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CALLED  HER  IN 151 

His  CHRISTMAS  SLED 118 

HONEY  DRIPPING  FROM  THE  COMB 198 

IN  SWIMMING-TIME  . 220 

IN  THE  NIGHT 55 

JACK-IN-THE-BOX 37 

JOHN  TARKINGTON  JAMESON 113 

LAWYER  AND  CHILD 68 

LITTLE  GIRLY-GIRL 35 

LITTLE  JOHNTS'S  CHRIS'MUS 141  ' 

LITTLE  MANDY'S  CHRISTMAS-TREE 136 

LONGFELLOW'S  LOVE  FOR  THE  CHILDREN     ...    48 

MABEL 33 

MAX  AND  JIM 107 

MCFEETERS'  FOURTH        133 

MOTHER  GOOSE 19 

NAUGHTY  CLAUDE 170 

OLD  MAN'S  NURSERY  RHYME 96 

N  THE  SUNNY  SIDE 43 

HIRED  GIRL 229« 

PANSIES 13 

PRIOR  TO  Miss  BELLE'S  APPEARANCE      ....  193 

SHE  "  DISPLAINS  "  IT 202 

SONG — FOR  NOVEMBER 196 

SOME  SCATTERING  REMARKS  OP  BUB'S    ....      7 

THAT-AIR  YOUNG-UN 88 

THE  ALL-GOLDEN 45 

THE  BOY-FRIEND 157 

THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM 225 

THE  BOYS 94 

THE  BOYS'  CANDIDATE 149 

THE  BROOK-SONG 85 

THE  BUMBLEBEE 150 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  CHRISTMAS  LONG  AGO 30 

THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE 108 

THE  DAYS  GONE  BY 25 

THE  DREAM  OF  THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS      ....    70 

THE  FISHING  PARTY 223 

THE  FUNNIEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD     ....  140 

THE  FUNNY  LITTLE  FELLOW 56 

THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE 20 

THE  HUNTER  BOY 181 

THE  JOLLY  MILLER 204 

THE  LAND  OF  THUS-AND-SO 121 

THE  LAND  OF  USED-TO-BE 74 

THE  LITTLE  COAT 65 

THE  LITTLE-RED-APPLE  TREE  .......      5 

THE  LITTLE  TINY  KICKSHAW 129 

THE  LUGUBRIOUS  WHING- WHANG 130 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON 183 

THE  NINE  LITTLE  GOBLINS 62 

THE  OLD  HAY-MOW Ill 

THE  OLD,  OLD  WISH 171 

THE  OLD  TRAMP 162 

THE  ORCHARD  LANDS  OF  LONG  AGO 147 

THE  PET  COON 165 

THE  PIXY  PEOPLE 8 

THE  PRAYER  PERFECT 52 

THE  PREACHER'S  BOY  " 173 

HE  RAGGEDY  MAN 217* 

THE  ROBINS'    OTHER  NAME 28 

THE  RUNAWAY  BOY 227* 

THE  SONG  OF  YESTERDAY 99 

THE  SQUIRT-GUN  UNCLE  MAKED  MB 83* 

THE  WAY  THE  BABY  CAME 17 

THE  WAY  THE  BABY  SLEPT  .  .  203 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  WAY  THE  BABY  WOKE 132 

THE  WHITHERAWAYS 215 

THE  YOUTHFUL  PRESS  .     .    . 87 

TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS 39 

To  HATTIE — ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 29 

TOMMY  SMITH 3 

UNCLE  SIDNEY 12 

UNCLE  SIDNEY'S  VIEWS 5Q 

UNINTERPRETED 18 

,  WAITIN'  FER  THE  CAT  TO  DIE 14 

WHEN  EARLY  MARCH  SEEMS  MIDDLE  MAY      .     .    60 

WHEN  OUR  BABY  DIED 77 

WHEN  THE  WORLD  BU'STS  THROUGH 159 

WINTER  FANCIES 49 

WITH  THE  CURRENT     .    ,  .207 


21* 


RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD 


THE  RIDER  OF  THE  KNEE 

Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee 
Of  Proud-prancing  Unclery  ! 
Gaily  mount,  and  wave  the  sign 
Of  that  mastery  of  thine. 

Pat  thy  steed  and  turn  him  free , 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee! 
Sit  thy  charger  as  a  throne — 
Lash  him  with  thy  laugh  alone: 

Sting  him  only  with  the  spur 
Of  such  wit  as  may  occur, 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee, 
In  thy  shriek  of  ecstasy. 

Would,  as  now,  we  might  endure, 
Twain  as  one — thou  miniature 
Ruler,  at  the  rein  of  me — 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Kneel 


TOMMY  SMITH 

DIMPLE-CHEEKED  and  rosy-lipped, 
With  his  cap-rim  backward  tipped, 
Still  in  fancy  I  can  see 
Little  Tommy  smile  on  me — 

Little  Tommy  Smith. 

Little  unsung  Tommy  Smith — 
Scarce  a  name  to  rhyme  it  with ; 
Yet  most  tenderly  to  me 
Something  sings  unceasingly — 

Little  Tommy  Smith. 

On  the  verge  of  some  far  land 
Still  forever  does  he  stand, 
Writh  his  cap-rim  rakishly 
Tilted  ;  so  he  smiles  on  me — * 

Little  Tommy  Smith. 

3 


TOMMY   SMITH 

Elder-blooms  contrast  the  grace 
Of  the  rover's  radiant  face — 
Whistling  back,  in  mimicry, 
"Old— Bob— White!"  all  liquidly— 
Little  Tommy  Smith. 

O  my  jaunty  statuette 
Of  first  love,  I  see  you  yet, 
Though  you  smile  so  mistily, 
It  is  but  through  tears  I  see, 

Little  Tommy  Smith. 

But,  with  crown  tipped  back  behind, 
And  the  glad  hand  of  the  wind 
Smoothing  back  your  hair,  I  see 
Heaven's  best  angel  smile  on  me, — 
Little  Tommy  Smith. 


THE  LITTLE-RED-APPLE  TREE 

THE  Little-red-apple  Tree ! — 

O  the  Little-red-apple  Tree ! 
When  I  was  the  little-est  bit  of  a  boy 

And  you  were  a  boy  with  me ! 
The  bluebird's  flight  from  the  topmost  boughs, 

And  the  boys  up  there — so  high 
That  we  rocked  over  the  roof  of  the  house 

And  whooped  as  the  winds  went  by ! 

Hey !  The  Little-red-apple  Tree ! 

With  the  garden-beds  below, 
And  the  old  grape-arbor  so  welcomely 

Hiding  the  rake  and  hoe ! 
Hiding,  too,  as  the  sun  dripped  through 

In  spatters  of  wasted  gold, 
Frank  and  Amy  away  from  you 

And  me  in  the  days  of  old! 

5 


THE    LITTLE-RED-APPLE    TREE 

The  Little-red-apple  Tree ! — 

In  the  edge  of  the  garden-spot, 
Where  the  apples  fell  so  lavishly 

Into  the  neighbor's  lot ; — 
So  do  I  think  of  you  alway, 

Brother  of  mine,  as  the  tree, — 
Giving  the  ripest  wealth  of  your  love 

To  the  world  as  well  as  me. 

Ho !   The  Little-red-apple  Tree ! 

Sweet  as  its  juiciest  fruit 
Spanged  on  the  palate  spicily, 

And  rolled  o'er  the  tongue  to  boot? 
Is  the  memory  still  and  the  joy 

Of  the  Little-red-apple  Tree, 
When  I  was  the  little-est  bit  of  a  boy 

And  you  were  a  boy  with  me ! 


SOME   SCATTERING    REMARKS 
OF    BUB'S 

WUNST  I  took  our  pepper-box  lid 
An'  cut  little  pie-dough  biscuits,  I  did, 
An'  cooked  'em  on  our  stove  one  day 
When  our  hired  girl  she  said  I  may. 

Honey1  s  the  goodest  thing — Oo-ook  ! 
An'  blackburry-pies  is  goodest,  too ! 
But  wite  hot  biscuits,  ist  soakin'  wet 
Wiv  tree-mullasus,  is  goodest  yet ! 

Miss  Maimie  she's  my  Ma's  friend, — an' 
She's  purtiest  girl  in  all  the  Ian' ! — 
An'  sweetest  smile  an'  voice  an'  face — 
An'  eyes  ist  looks  like  p' serves  tas'e' ! 

I  ruther  go  to  the  Circus-show ; 
But,  'cause  my  parunts  told  me  so, 
I  ruther  go  to  the  Sund'y  School, 
'Cause  there  I  learn  the  goldun  rule. 

Say,  Pa, — what  is  the  goldun  rule 
'At's  allus  at  the  Sund'y  School? 


THE   PIXY  PEOPLE 

IT  was  just  a  very 

Merry  fairy  dream ! — 
All  the  woods  were  airy 

With  the  gloom  and  gleam ; 
Crickets  in  the  clover 

Clattered  clear  and  strong, 
And  the  bees  droned  over 

Their  old  honey-song! 

In  the  mossy  passes, 
Saucy  grasshoppers 

Leaped  about  the  grasses 
And  the  thistle-burs ; 

And  the  whispered  chuckle 
Of  the  katydid 

Shook  the  honeysuckle- 
Blossoms  where  he  hid. 
8 


THE    PIXY    PEOPLE 

Through  the  breezy  mazes 

Of  the  lazy  June, 
Drowsy  with  the  hazes 

Of  the  dreamy  noon, 
Little  Pixy  people 

Winged  above  the  walk, 
Pouring  from  the  steeple 

Of  a  mullein-stalk. 

One — a  gallant  fellow — 

Evidently  King, — 
Wore  a  plume  of  yellow 

In  a  jewelled  ring 
On  a  pansy  bonnet, 

Gold  and  white  and  blue, 
With  the  dew  still  on  it, 

And  the  fragrance,  too. 

One — a  dainty  lady,— 
Evidently  Queen — 

Wore  a  gown  of  shady 
Moonshine  and  green, 


THE    PIXY    PEOPLE 

With  a  lace  of  gleaming 

Starlight,  that  sent 
All  the  dewdrops  dreaming 

Everywhere  she  went. 

One  wore  a  waistcoat 

Of  rose-leaves,  out  and  in ; 
And  one  wore  a  faced-coat 

Of  tiger-lily-skin ; 
And  one  wore  a  neat  coat 

Of  palest  galingale ; 
And  one  a  tiny  street-coat, 

And  one  a  swallow-tail. 

And  Ho !  sang  the  King  of  them, 

And  Hey !  sang  the  Queen  ; 
And  round  and  round  the  ring  of  them 

Went  dancing  o'er  the  green; 
And  Hey !  sang  the  Queen  of  them, 

And  Ho !  sang  the  King — 
And  all  that  I  had  seen  of  them 

— Wasn't  anything! 


10 


THE    PIXY    PEOPLE 

It  was  just  a  very 

Merry  fairy  dream ! — 
All  the  woods  were  airy 

With  the  gloom  and  gleam ; 
Crickets  in  the  clover 

Clattered  clear  and  strong, 
And  the  bees  droned  over 

Their  old  honey-song  I 


II 


UNCLE   SIDNEY 

SOMETIMES,  when  I  bin  bad, 
An'  Pa  "  currecks  "  me  nen, 

An'  Uncle  Sidney  he  comes  here, 
I'm  allus  good  again ; 

'Cause  Uncle  Sidney  says, 

An*  takes  me  up  an'  smiles,— 

The  goodest  mens  they  is  ain't  good 
As  baddest  little  childsl 


12 


PANSIES 

PANSIES!  Pansies!  How  I  love  you,  pansies! 
Jaunty-faced,  laughing-lipped    and    dewy-eyed 

with  glee ; 
Would    my   song   but  blossom  in   little  five-leaf 

stanzas 

As  delicate  in  fancies 

As  your  beauty  is  to  me ! 

But  my  eyes  shall  smile  on  you,  and  my  hands  in 
fold  you, 

Pet,  caress,  and  lift  you  to  the  lips  that  love 
you  so, 

That,  shut  ever  in  the  years  that  may  mildew  or 

mould  you, 

My  fancy  shall  behold  you 

Fair  as  in  the  long  ago. 


WAITIN'   FER   THE   CAT   TO   DIE 

LAWZY  !  don't  I  rickollect 

That-air  old  swing  in  the  lane ! 

Right  and  proper,  I  expect, 

Old  times  can't  come  back  again ; 

But  I  want  to  state,  ef  they 

Could  come  back,  and  I  could  say 

What  my  pick'ud  be,  i  jing! 

I'd  say,  Gimme  the  old  swing 

'Nunder  the  old  locus'-trees 

On  the  old  place,  ef  you  please! — 

Danglin'  there  with  half-shet  eye, 

Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die ! 

I'd  say,  Gimme  the  old  gang 

O'  barefooted,  hungry,  lean, 
Ornry  boys  you  want  to  hang 

When  you're  growed  up  twic't  as  mean! 


WAITIN     FER   THE    CAT    TO    DIE 

The  old  gyarden-patch,  the  old 
Truants,  and  the  stuff  we  stol'd! 
The  old  stompin'-groun',  where  we 
Wore  the  grass  off,  wild  and  free 
As  the  swoop  o'  the  old  swing, 
Where  we  ust  to  climb  and  cling, 
And  twist  roun',  and  fight,  and  lie — 
Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die ! 

'Pears  like  I  'most  allus  could 

Swing  the  highest  of  the  crowd — 
Jes  sail  up  there  tel  I  stood 

Downside-up,  and  screech  out  loud,- 
Ketch  my  breath,  and  jes  drap  back 
Fer  to  let  the  old  swing  slack, 
Yit  my  towhead  dippin'  still 
In  the  green  boughs,  and  the  chill 
Up  my  backbone  taperin'  down, 
With  my  shadder  on  the  groun* 
Slow  and  slower  trailin'  by — 
Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die ! 


Now  my  daughter's  little  Jane's 

Got  a  kind  o'  baby-swing 
On  the  porch,  so's  when  it  rains 

She  kin  play  there — little  thing! 
And  I'd  limped  out  t'other  day 
With  my  old  cheer  thisaway, 
Swingin'  her  and  rockin'  too, 
Thinkin'  how  /ust  to  do 
At  her  age,  when  suddently, 
"Hey,  Gran'pap!"  she  says  to  me, 
"Why  you  rock  so  slow?"  .  .  .  Says  I, 
"Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die!" 


THE   WAY   THE   BABY    CAME 

O  THIS  is  the  way  the  baby  came : 
Out  of  the  night  as  comes  the  dawn ; 

Out  of  the  embers  as  the  flame ; 
Out  of  the  bud  the  blossom  on 

The  apple-bough  that  blooms  the  same 
As  in  glad  summers  dead  and  gone — • 

With  a  grace  and  beauty  none  could  name  - 

O  this  is  the  way  the  baby  came ! 


'7 


UNINTERPRETED 

SUPINELY  we  lie  in  the  grove's  shady  greenery, 
Gazing,  all  dreamy-eyed,  up  through  the  trees, — 

And  as  to  the  sight  is  the  heavenly  scenery, 
So  to  the  hearing  the  sigh  of  the  breeze. 

We  catch  but  vague  rifts  of  the  blue  through  the 

wavering 

Boughs  of  the  maples;  and,  like  undefined, 
The  whispers  and  lisps  of  the  leaves,  faint  and 

quavering, 
Meaningless  falter  and  fall  on  the  mind. 

The  vine,  with  its  beauty  of  blossom,  goes  rioting 
Up  by  the  casement,  as  sweet  to  the  eye 

As  the  trill  of  the  robin  is  restful  and  quieting 
Heard  in  a  drowse  with  the  dawn  in  the  sky. 

And  yet  we  yearn  on  to  learn  more  of  the  mystery — 
We  see  and  we  hear,  but  forever  remain 

Mute,  blind  and  deaf  to  the  ultimate  history 
Born  of  a  rose  or  a  patter  of  rain. 
18 


MOTHER  GOOSE 

DEAR  Mother  Goose !  most  motherly  and  dear 
Of  all  good  mothers  who  have  laps  wherein 
We  children  nestle  safest  from  all  sin, — 

I  cuddle  to  thy  bosom,  with  no  fear 

To  there  confess  that  though  thy  cap  be  queer, 
And  thy  curls  gimlety,  and  thy  cheeks  thin, 
And  though  the  winkered  mole  upon  thy  chin 

Tickles  thy  very  nose-tip, — still  to  hear 
The  jolly  jingles  of  mine  infancy 

Crooned  by  thee,  makes  mine  eager  arms,  as  now, 
To  twine  about  thy  neck,  full  tenderly 

Drawing  the  dear  old  face  down,  that  thy  brow 
May  dip  into  my  purest  kiss,  and  be 
Crowned  ever  with  the  baby-love  of  me. 


THE   HAPPY   LITTLE   CRIPPLE 

I'M  thist  a  little  crippled  boy,   an'  never  goin'  to 

grow 
An*  git  a  great  big  man  at  all ! — 'cause  Aunty  told 

me  so. 
When  I  was  thist  a  baby  onc't  I  failed  out  of  the 

bed 
An'    got  "  The  Curv'ture  of   the  Spine" — 'at's 

what  the  Doctor  said. 
I  never  had  no  Mother  nen — fer  my  Pa  runned 

away 
An*  dassn't  come  back  here  no  more — 'cause  he 

was  drunk  one  day 
An'  stobbed  a  man  in  thish-ere  town,  an'  couldn't 

pay  his  fine ! 
An'  nen  my  Ma  she  died — an'  I  got  "Curv'ture 

of  the  Spine"! 

20 


THE    HAPPY    LITTLE    CRIPPLE 

I'm  nine  years   old!     An'  you   can't  guess  how 

much  I  weigh,  I  bet! — 
Last  birthday  I  weighed  thirty-three ! — An'  I  weigh 

thirty  yet! 

I'm  awful  little  fer  my  size — I'm  purt'  nigh  lit 
tler  nan 
Some  babies  is! — an'  neighbers  all  calls  me  "The 

Little  Man"! 
An'  Doc  one  time  he  laughed  an'  said:      "I  'spect, 

first  think  you  know, 
You'll  have  a  little  spike-tail  coat  an'  travel  with 

a  show!" 
An'  nen  I  laughed — till  I  looked  round  an'  Aunty 

was  a-cryin' — 
Sometimes  she  acts  like  that,  'cause  I  got  "Curv'- 

ture  of  the  Spine"! 

I  set — while  Aunty's  washin' — on  my  little  long- 
leg  stool, 

An'  watch  the  little  boys  an'  girls  a-skippin'  by 
to  school ; 

An'  I  peck  on  the  winder,  an'  holler  out  an'  say: 

uWho  wants  to  fight  The  Little  Man  'at  dares  you 
all  to-day?" 

21 


THE    HAPPY    LITTLE    CRIPPLE 

An*  nen  the  boys  climbs  on  the  fence,  an'  Tittle 

girls  peeks  through, 
An'  they  all  says:      "'Cause  you're  so  big,  you 

think  we're  'feard  o'  you!" 
An'  nen  they  yell,  an'  shake  their  fist  at  me,  like 

I  shake  mine — 
They're   thist   in   fun,   you   know,    'cause    I  got 

"Curv'ture  of  the  Spine"  ! 

At  evening,  when  the  ironin's  done,  an'  Aunty's 

fixed  the  fire, 
An'  filled  an'  lit  the  lamp,  an*  trimmed  the  wick 

an'  turned  it  higher, 
An'  fetched  the  wood  all  in  fer  night,  an'  locked 

the  kitchen  door, 
An'  stuffed  the  old  crack  where  the  wind  blows  in 

up  through  the  floor— 
She  sets  the  kittle  on  the  coals,  an*  biles  an*  makes 

the  tea, 
An'  fries  the  liver  an*  the  mush,  an'  cooks  a  egg 

fer  me ; 

An'  sometimes — when  I  cough  so  hard — her  elder 
berry  wine 
Don't  go  so  bad  fer  little  boys  with  * 'Curv'ture  of 

the  Spine"! 

22 


THE    HAPPY    LITTLE    CRIPPLE 

An'  nen  when  she  putts  me  to  bed — an'  'fore  she 

does  she's  got 
My  blanket-nighty,  'at  she   maked,  all  good  an' 

warm  an'  hot, 
Hunged  on  the  rocker  by  the  fire, — she  sings  me 

hymns,  an'  tells 
Me  'bout   The   Good  Man — yes,  an'  Elves,  an' 

Old  Enchanter  spells; 
An'  tells  me  more — an'  more — an'  more ! — tel  I'm 

asleep,  purt'  nigh — 

Only  I  thist  set  up  ag'in  an'  kiss  her  when  she  cry, 
A-tellin'  on  'bout  some  boy's  Angel-mother — an' 

it's  mine! 
My  Ma's  a  Angel— but  I'm  got  "The  Curv'ture 

of  the  Spine"  ! 

But  Aunty's  all  so  childish-like  on  my  account, 

you  see, 
I'm  'most  afeared  she'll  be  took  down — an'  'at's 

what  bothers  me  I — 
'Cause  ef  my  good  old  Aunty  ever  would  git  sick 

an'  die, 


23 


THE    HAPPY    LITTLE    CRIPPLE 

I  don't  know  what  she'd  do  in  Heaven — till  7 

come,  by  an*  by : — 
Fer  she's  so  ust  to  all  my  ways,  an'  ever'thing, 

you  know, 
An'  no  one  there  like  me,  to  nurse  an'  worry  over 

so! — 
'Cause  all  the  little  childerns  there's  so  straight  an' 

strong  an'  fine, 
They's  nary  angel  'bout  the  place  with  "  Curv'- 

ture  of  the  Spine  "  ! 

NOTE. — The  word  "  thist,"  as  used  in  foregoing  lines, 
is  an  occasional  childish  pronunciation  evolved  from  the 
word  "just" — a  word  which  in  child  vernacular  has  mani 
fold  supplanters, — such  as  "jus,"  "jes,"  "  des,"  "jis," 
"dis,"  "jist,"  "dist,"  "  ist,"  and  even  "gist,"  with  hard  g. 
In  "  thist,"  as  above,  sound  "  th  "  as  in  the  word  "  the." 


24 


THE   DAYS   GONE   BY 

O  THE  days  gone  by !      O  the  days  gone  by ! 
The  apples  in  the  orchard,  and  the  pathway  through 

the  rye ; 
The  chirrup  of  the   robin,  and  the  whistle  of  the 

quail 
As  he  piped  across  the  meadows  sweet   as  any 

nightingale ; 
When  the  bloom  was  on  the  clover,  and  the  blue 

was  in  the  sky, 
And  my  happy  heart  brimmed  over,  in  the  days 

gone  by. 

In  the  days  gone  by,  when  my   naked  feet  were 

tripped 
By  the  honeysuckle  tangles  where  the  water-lilies 

dipped, 

25 


THE    DAYS    GONE    BY 

And  the  ripples  of  the  river  lipped  the  moss  along 

the  brink 
Where  the  placid-eyed  and  lazy-footed  cattle  came 

to  drink, 
And  the  tilting  snipe  stood  fearless  of  the  truant's 

wayward  cry 
And  the  splashing  of  the  swimmer,  in  the  days 

gone  by0 

O  the  days  gone  by !     O  the  days  gone  by ! 

The  music  of  the  laughing  lip,  the  lustre  of  the  eye ; 

The  childish  faith  in  fairies,  and  Aladdin's  magic 
ring— 

The  simple,  soul-reposing,  glad  belief  in  every 
thing, — 

When  life  was  like  a  story  holding  neither  sob  nor 
sigh, 

In  the  golden  olden  glory  of  the  days  gone  by. 


26 


CHRISTMAS  AFTERTHOUGHT 

AFTER  a  thoughtful,  almost  painful  pause, 
Bub  sighed,  "I'm  sorry  fer  old  Santy  Claus 
They  wuz  no  Santy  Claus,  ner  couldn't  be, 
When  he  wuz  ist  a  little  boy  like  me!" 


THE   ROBINS'   OTHER  NAME 

In  the  Orchard-Days,  when  you 

Children  look  like  blossoms,  too ; 

Bessie,  with  her  jaunty  ways 

And  trim  poise  of  head  and  face, 

Must  have  looked  superior 

Even  to  the  blossoms, — for 

Little  Winnie  once  averred 

Bessie  looked  just  like  the  bird 

Tilted  on  the  topmost  spray 

Of  the  apple-boughs  in  May, 

With  the  red  breast,  and  the  strong, 

Clear,  sweet  warble  of  his  song.— 

"I  don't  know  their  name,"  Win  said 

"I  ist  maked  a  name  instead." — 

So  forever  afterwards 

We  called  robins  "Bessie-birds." 


28 


TO  HATTIE— ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 

Written  in  "A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses" 

WHEN  your  "Uncle  Jim"  was  younger, 
In  the  days  of  childish  hunger 
For  the  honey  of  such  verses 
As  this  little  book  rehearses 

In  such  sweet  simplicity, — 
Just  the  simple  gift  that  this  is 
Would  have  brimmed  his  heart  with  blisses 
Sweet  as  Hattie's  sweetest  kisses, 

On  her  anniversary. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  LONG  AGO 

COME,  sing  a  hale  Heigh-ho 
For  the  Christmas  long  ago! — 
When  the  old  log-cabin  homed  us 

From  the  night  of  blinding  snow, 
When  the  rarest  joy  held  reign, 
And  the  chimney  roared  amain, 
With  the  firelight  like  a  beacon 

Through  the  frosty  window-pane. 

AM  the  revel  and  the  din 
From  without  and  from  within, 
The  blend  of  distant  sleigh-bells 

With  the  plinking  violin  ; 
The  muffled  shrieks  and  cries — 
Then  the  glowing  cheeks  and  eyes— 
The  driving  storm  of  greetings, 
Gusts  of  kisses  and  surprise. 

30 


THE    CHRISTMAS    LONG   AGO 

Sing — sweetest  of  all  glees — 
Of  the  taffy-makers,  please, — 
And,  round  the  saucers  in  the  snow, 

The  children  thick  as  bees ; 
And  sing  each  chubby  cheek, 
Chin  and  laughing  lip  astreak 
With  still  a  sweeter  sweetness  than 
The  tongue  of  Song  can  speak. 

Sing  in  again  the  mirth 
Of  the  circle  round  the  hearth, 
With  the  rustic  Sindbad  telling  us 
The  strangest  tales  on  earth ! 
And  the  Minstrel  Bard  we  knew, 
With  his  "  Love-i-er  so  True," 
Likewise  his  "Young  House-K-yarpen-fer,: 
And  "Loved  Henry,"  too! 

And,  forgetting  ne'er  a  thing, 
Lift  a  gladder  voice  and  sing 
Of  the  dancers  in  the  kitchen — > 

Clean  from  start  to  "pigeon-wing"  I 
Sing  the  glory  and  the  glee 
And  the  joy  and  jubilee, — 

3* 


THE    CHRISTMAS    LONG    AGO 

The  twirling  form — the  quickened  breath— 
The  sigh  of  ecstasy. — 

The  eyes  that  smile  alone 
Back  into  our  happy  own — 
The  leaping  pulse — the  laughing  blood—™ 

The  trembling  undertone! — 
Ho!  pair  us  off  once  more, 
With  our  feet  upon  the  floor 
And  our  heads  and  hearts  in  heaven, 
As  they  were  in  days  of  yore  I 


MABEL 

SWEET  little  face,  so  full  of  slumber  now — 

Sweet  lips  uplifted  now  with  any  kiss — 
Sweet  dimpled  cheek  and  chin,  and  snowy  brow,- 
What  quietude  is  this? 

O  speak!     Have  you  forgotten,  yesterday, 

How  gladly  you  came  running  to  the  gate 
To  meet  us  in  the  old  familiar  way, 
So  joyous — so  elate — 

So  filled  with  wildest  glee,  yet  so  serene 

With  innocence  of  song  and  childish  chat, 
With  all  the  dear  caresses  in  between — 
Have  you  forgotten  that? 

Have  you  forgotten,  knowing  gentler  charms, 
The  boisterous  love  of  one  you  ran  to  greet 
When  you  last  met,  who  caught  you  in  his  arms 

And  kissed  you,  in  the  street? 

3  33 


MABEL 

Not  very  many  days  have  passed  since  then, 

And  yet  between  that  kiss  and  him  there  lies 
No  pathway  of  return — unless  again, 
In  streets  of  Paradise, 

Your  eager  feet  come  twinkling  down  the  gold 

Of  some  bright  thoroughfare  ethereal, 
To  meet  and  greet  him  there  just  as  of  old. — 
Till  then,  farewell — farewell. 


34 


LITTLE   GIRLY-GIRL 

LITTLE  Girly-Girl,  of  you 
Still  forever  I  am  dreaming.- 

Laughing  eyes  of  limpid  blue- 
Tresses  glimmering  and  gleaming 

Like  glad  waters  running  over 

Shelving  shallows,  rimmed  with  clover, 
Trembling  where  the  eddies  whirl, 
Gurgling,  "Little  Girly-Girl!" 

For  your  name  it  came  to  me 

Down  the  brink  of  brooks  that  brought  it 
Out  of  Paradise — and  we— 

Love  and  I — we,  leaning,  caught  it 
From  the  ripples  romping  nigh  us, 
And  the  bubbles  bumping  by  us 

Over  shoals  of  pebbled  pearl, 

Lilting,  "Little  Girly-Girl  I" 

35 


LITTLE    GIRLY-OIRL 

That  was  long  and  long  ago, 
But  in  memory  the  tender 

Winds  of  summer  weather  blow, 
And  the  roses  burst  in  splendor; 

And  the  meadow's  grassy  billows 

Break  in  blossoms  round  the  willows 
Where  the  currents  curve  and  curl, 
Calling,  "Little  Girly-Girl!" 


JACK-IN-THE-BOX 
^Grandfather,  musing] 

IN  childish  days!     O  memory, 
You  bring  such  curious  things  to  me  I— 
Laughs  to  the  lip — tears  to  the  eye, 
In  looking  on  the  gifts  that  lie 
Like  broken  playthings  scattered  o'er 
Imagination's  nursery  floor! 
Did  these  old  hands  once  click  the  key 
That  let  " Jack's"  box-lid  upward  fly, 
And  that  blear-eyed,  fur-whiskered  elf 
Leap,  as  though  frightened  at  himself, 
And  quiveringly  lean  and  stare 
At  me,  his  jailer,  laughing  there? 

A  child  then !     Now — I  only  know 
They  call  me  very  old ;  and  so 
They  will  not  let  me  have  my  way,— • 
But  uselessly  I  sit  all  day 
37 


JACK-IN-THE-BOX 

Here  by  the  chimney-jamb,  and  poke 
The  lazy  fire,  and  smoke  and  smoke, 
And  watch  the  wreaths  swoop  up  the  flue, 
And  chuckle — ay,  I  often  do— 
Seeing  again,  all  vividly, 
Jack-in-the-box  leap,  as  in  glee 
To  see  how  much  he  looks  like  me! 

.  .  .    They  talk.     I  can't  hear  what  they  say- 
But  I  am  glad,  clean  through  and  through 
Sometimes,  in  fancying  that  they 
Are  saying,  u Sweet,  that  fancy  strays 
In  age  back  to  our  childish  days!" 


TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS 


TIME  of  crisp  and  tawny  leaves, 
And  of  tarnished  harvest  sheaves, 
And  of  dusty  grasses — weeds — 
Thistles,  with  their  tufted  seeds 
Voyaging  the  Autumn  breeze 
Like  as  fairy  argosies : 
Time  of  quicker  flash  of  wings, 
And  of  clearer  twitterings 
In  the  grove  or  deeper  shade 
Of  the  tangled  everglade, — 
Where  the  spotted  water-snake 
Coils  him  in  the  sunniest  brake ; 
And  the  bittern,  as  in  fright, 
Darts,  in  sudden,  slanting  flight, 
Southward,  while  the  startled  crane 
Films  his  eyes  in  dreams  again. 

39 


TIME    OF    CLEARER    TWITTERINGS 
II 

Down  along  the  dwindled  creek 
We  go  loitering.     We  speak 
Only  with  old  questionings 
Of  the  dear  remembered  things 
Of  the  days  of  long  ago, 
When  the  stream  seemed  thus  and  so 
In  our  boyish  eyes: — The  bank 
Greener  then,  through  rank  on  rank 
Of  the  mottled  sycamores, 
Touching  tops  across  the  shores: 
Here,  the  hazel  thicket  stood — 
There,  the  almost  pathless  wood 
Where  the  shellbark  hickory-tree 
Rained  its  wealth  on  you  and  me. 
Autumn!   as  you  loved  us  then, 
Take  us  to  your  heart  again ! 

ra 

Season  halest  of  the  year! 
How  the  zestful  atmosphere 
Nettles  blood  and  brain  and  smites 
Into  life  the  old  delights 
40 


TIME    OF'  CLEARER    TWITTERINGS 

We  have  wasted  in  our  youth, 
And  our  graver  years,  forsooth! 
How  again  the  boyish  heart 
Leaps  to  see  the  chipmunk  start 
From  the  brush  and  sleek  the  sun's 
Very  beauty,  as  he  runs  ! 
How  again  a  subtle  hint 
Of  crushed  pennyroyal  or  mint 
Sends  us  on  our  knees,  as  when 
We  were  truant  boys  of  ten — 
Brown  marauders  of  the  wood, 
Merrier  than  Robin  Hood! 

IV 

Ah !  will  any  minstrel  say, 
In  his  sweetest  roundelay, 
What  is  sweeter,  after  all, 
Than  black  haws,  in  early  Fall?— 
Fruit  so  sweet  the  frost  first  sat, 
Dainty-toothed,  and  nibbled  at! 
And  will  any  poet  sing 
Of  a  lusher,  richer  thing 


TIME    OP    CLEARER   TWITTERINGS 

Than  a  ripe  May-apple,  rollexl 
Like  a  pulpy  lump  of  gold 
Under  thumb  and  finger-tips, 
And  poured  molten  through  the  lips? 
Go,  ye  bards  of  classic  themes, 
Pipe  your  songs  by  classic  streams ! 
I  would  twang  the  redbird's  wings 
In  the  thicket  while  he  sings ! 


ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE 

Hi  and  whoop-hooray,  boys! 

Sing  a  song  of  cheer! 
Here's  a  holiday,  boys, 

Lasting  half  a  year! 
Round  the  world,  and  half  is 

Shadow  we  have  tried  ; 
Now  we're  where  the  laugh  is,- 

On  the  sunny  side ! 

Pigeons  coo  and  mutter, 

Strutting  high  aloof 
Where  the  sunbeams  flutter 

Through  the  stable  roof. 
Hear  the  chickens  cheep,  boys, 

And  the  hen  with  pride 
Clucking  them  to  sleep,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side ! 

Hear  the  clacking  guinea ; 

Hear  the  cattle  moo ; 
Hear  the  horses  whinny, 

Looking  out  at  you  I 
43 


ON    THE    SUNNY    SIDE 

On  the  hitching-block,  boys, 
Grandly  satisfied, 

See  the  old  peacock,  boys, 
On  the  sunny  side ! 

Robins  in  the  peach-tree  ; 

Bluebirds  in  the  pear ; 
Blossoms  over  each  tree 

In  the  orchard  there ! 
All  the  world's  in  joy,  boys, 

Glad  and  glorified 
As  a  romping  boy,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side ! 

Where's  a  heart  as  mellow— « 

Where's  a  soul  as  free— • 
Where  is  any  fellow 

We  would  rather  be  ? 
Just  ourselves  or  none,  boys, 

World  around  and  wide. 
Laughing  in  the  sun,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side ! 


44 


THE   ALL-GOLDEN 


THROUGH  every  happy  line  I  sing 
I  feel  the  tonic  of  the  Spring. 
The  day  is  like  an  old-time  face 
That  gleams  across  some  grassy  place 
An  old-time  face — an  old-time  chum 
Who  rises  from  the  grave  to  come 
And  lure  me  back  along  the  ways 
Of  time's  all-golden  yesterdays. 
Sweet  day!  to  thus  remind  me  of 
The  truant  boy  I  used  to  love — 
To  set,  once  more,  his  finger-tips 
Against  the  blossom  of  his  lips, 
And  pipe  for  me  the  signal  known 
By  none  but  him  and  me  alone ! 
45 


THE   ALL-GOLDEN 
II 

I  see,  across  the  school-room  floor, 

The  shadow  of  the  open  door, 

And  dancing  dust  and  sunshine  blent 

Slanting  the  way  the  morning  went, 

And  beckoning  my  thoughts  afar 

Where  reeds  and  running  waters  are ; 

Where  amber-colored  bayous  glass 

The  half-drown'd  weeds  and  wisps  of  grass. 

Where  sprawling  frogs,  in  loveless  key, 

Sing  on  and  on  incessantly. 

Against  the  green  wood's  dim  expanse 

The  cattail  tilts  its  tufted  lance, 

While  on  its  tip — one  might  declare 

The  white  " snake-feeder"  blossomed  there ! 

in 

I  catch  my  breath  as  children  do 
In  woodland  swings  when  life  is  new, 
And  all  the  blood  is  warm  as  wine 
And  tingles  with  a  tang  divine. 
My  soul  soars  up  the  atmosphere 
And  sings  aloud  where  God  can  hear, 


THE    ALL-GOLDEN 

And  all  my  being  leans  intent 
To  mark  His  smiling  wonderment. 
O  gracious  dream,  and  gracious  time, 
And  gracious  theme,  and  gracious  rhyme- 
When  buds  of  Spring  begin  to  blow 
In  blossoms  that  we  used  to  know 
And  lure  us  back  along  the  ways 
Of  time's  all-golden  yesterdays! 


LONGFELLOW'S   LOVE   FOR   THE 
CHILDREN 

AWAKE,  he  loved  their  voices, 
And  wove  them  into  his  rhyme ; 

And  the  music  of  their  laughter 
Was  with  him  all  the  time. 

Though  he  knew  the  tongues  of  nations, 
And  their  meanings  all  were  dear, 

The  prattle  and  lisp  of  a  little  child 
Was  the  sweetest  for  him  to  hear. 


WINTER   FANCIES 


WINTER  without 

And  warmth  within; 
The  winds  may  shout 

And  the  storm  begin  ; 
The  snows  may  pack 

At  the  window-pane, 
And  the  skies  grow  black, 

And  the  sun  remain 
Hidden  away 

The  livelong  day — 
But  here — in  here  is  the  warmth  of  May ! 

II 

Swoop  your  spitefullest 
Up  the  flue, 
Wild  Winds— do ! 

What  in  the  world  do  I  care  for  you? 
4  49 


WINTER    FANCIES 

O  delightfullest 

Weather  of  all, 
Howl  and  squall, 
And  shake  the  trees  till  the  last  leaves  fall ! 

Ill 

The  joy  one  feels, 

In  an  easy-chair, 
Cocking  his  heels 

In  the  dancing  air 

That  wreaths  the  rim  of  a  roaring  stove 
Whose  heat  loves  better  than  hearts  can  love, 
Will  not  permit 

The  coldest  day 

To  drive  away 
The  fire  in  his  blood,  and  the  bliss  of  it ! 

IV 

Then  blow,  Winds,  blow! 

And  rave  and  shriek, 
And  snarl  and  snow, 

Till  your  breath  grows  weak — 


5° 


WINTER    FANCIES 

While  here  in  my  room 
I'm  as  snugly  shut 

As  a  glad  little  worm 

In  the  heart  of  a  nut ! 


5« 


THE  PRAYER  PERFECT 

DEAR  Lord !  kind  Lord ! 

Gracious  Lord !  I  pray 
Thou  wilt  look  on  all  I  love, 

Tenderly  to-day ! 
Weed  their  hearts  of  weariness ; 

Scatter  every  care 
Down  a  wake  of  angel-wings 

Winnowing  the  air. 

Bring  unto  the  sorrowing 

All  release  from  pain; 
Let  the  lips  of  laughter 

Overflow  again; 
And  with  all  the  needy 

O  divide,  I  pray, 
This  vast  treasure  of  content 

That  is  mine  to-day ! 


A  MOTHER-SONG 

MOTHER,  O  mother!  forever  I  cry  for  you, 
Sing  the  old  song  I  may  never  forget ; 

Even  in  slumber  I  murmur  and  sigh  for  you.— 
Mother,  O  Mother, 

Sing  low,  "  Little  brother, 

Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet!" 

Mother,  O  mother!  the  years  are  so  lonely, 
Filled  but  with  weariness,  doubt  and  regret! 

Can't  you  come  back  to  me — for  to-night  only, 
Mother,  my  mother, 

And  sing,  "Little  brother, 

Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet!" 

Mother,  O  mother !  of  old  I  had  never 

One  wish  denied  me,  nor  trouble  to  fret; 
Now — must  I  cry  out  all  vainly  forever, — 
Mother,  sweet  mother, 

O  sing,  "Little  brother, 

Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet!" 
53 


OF  THE 

(    UNIVERSITY  | 


A   MOTHER-SONG 

Mother,  O  mother!  must  longing  and  sorrow 
Leave  me  in  darkness,  with  eyes  ever  wet, 

And  never  the  hope  of  a  meeting  to-morrow  ? 
Answer  me,  mother, 

And  sing,  "Little  brother, 

Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet!" 


54 


IN  THE  NIGHT 

WHEN  it's  night,  and  no  light,  too, 

Wakin'  byyourse'f, 
With  the  old  clock  mockin'  you 

On  the  mantel-she'f ; 
In  the  dark — so  still  and  black, 

You're  afeard  you'll  hear 
Somepin'  awful  pop  and  crack, — 

"Go  to  sleep,  my  dear!" 

That's  what  Mother  says. — And  thev-& 

When  we  ain't  afeard  I 
Wunder,  when  we  be  big  mens, 

Then  'ul  we  be  skeerd? — 
Some  night  Mother's  goned  away, 

And  ist  us  is  here, 
Will  The  Good  Man  wake  and  say, 

"Go  to  sleep,  my  dear"  ? 


55 


THE    FUNNY   LITTLE   FELLOW 

'TwAS  a  Funny  Little  Fellow 

Of  the  very  purest  type, 
For  he  had  a  heart  as  mellow 

As  an  apple  overripe ; 
And  the  brightest  little  twinkle 

When  a  funny  thing  occurred, 
And  the  lightest  little  tinkle 

Of  a  laugh  you  ever  heard ! 

His  smile  was  like  the  glitter 

Of  the  sun  in  tropic  lands, 
And  his  talk  a  sweeter  twitter, 

Than  the  swallow  understands ; 
Hear  him  sing — and  tell  a  story — 

Snap  a  joke — ignite  a  pun, — 
JTwas  a  capture — rapture — glory, 

And  explosion — all  in  one  1 

56 


THE    FUNNY   LITTLE    FELLOW 

Though  he  hadn't  any  money — 

That  condiment  which  tends 
To  make  a  fellow  "  honey" 

For  the  palate  of  his  friends  ;— 
Sweet  simples  he  compounded — 

Sovereign  antidotes  for  sin 
Or  taint, — a  faith  unbounded 

That  his  friends  were  genuine. 

He'wasn't  honored,  maybe — 

For  his  songs  of  praise  were  slim,- 
Yet  I  never  knew  a  baby 

That  wouldn't  crow  for  him  ; 
I  never  knew  a  mother 

But  urged  a  kindly  claim 
Upon  him  as  a  brother, 

At  the  mention  of  his  name. 

The  sick  have  ceased  their  sighing, 
And  have  even  found  the  grace 

Of  a  smile  when  they  were  dying 
As  they  looked  upon  his  face ; 


57 


THE    FUNNY   LITTLE    FELLOW 

And  I've  seen  his  eyes  of  laughter 
Melt  in  tears  that  only  ran 

As  though,  swift-dancing  after, 
Came  the  Funny  Little  Man. 

He  laughed  away  the  sorrow 

And  he  laughed  away  the  gloom 
We  are  all  so  prone  to  borrow 

From  the  darkness  of  the  tomb ; 
And  he  laughed  across  the  ocean 

Of  a  happy  life,  and  passed, 
With  a  laugh  of  glad  emotion, 

Into  Paradise  at  last. 

And  I  think  the  Angels  knew  him, 

And  had  gathered  to  await 
His  coming,  and  run  to  him 

Through  the  widely  opened  Gate, 
With  their  faces  gleaming  sunny 

For  his  laughter-loving  sake, 
And  thinking,  "What  a  funny 

Little  Angel  he  will  make!" 


UNCLE   SIDNEY'S   VIEWS 

I  HOLD  that  the  true  age  of  wisdom  is  when 
We  are  boys  and  girls,  and  not  women  and  men, — 
When  as  credulous  children  we  know  things  because 
We  believe  them — however  averse  to  the  laws. 
It  is  faith,  then,  not  science  and  reason,  I  say, 
That  is  genuine  wisdom. — And  would  that  to-day 
We,  as  then,  were  as  wise  and  ineffably  blest 
As  to  live,  love  and  die,  and  trust  God  for  the  rest! 

So  I  simply  deny  the  old  notion,  you  know, 
That  the  wiser  we  get  as  the  older  we  grow ! — 
For  in  youth  all  we  know  we  are  certain  of. — Now 
The  greater  our  knowledge,  the  more  we  allow 
For  sceptical  margin. — And  hence  I  regret 
That  the  world  isn't  flat,  and  the  sun  doesn't  set, 
And  we  may  not  go  creeping  up  home,  when  we 

die, 
Through  the  moon,  like  a  round  yellow  hole  in  the 

sky. 


59 


WHEN  EARLY  MARCH  SEEMS  MIDDLE 
MAY 

WHEN  country  roads  begin  to  thaw 
In  mottled  spots  of  damp  and  dust, 

And  fences  by  the  margin  draw 

Along  the  frosty  crust 
Their  graphic  silhouettes,  I  say, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  morning-time  is  bright  with  sun 
And  keen  with  wind,  and  both  confuse 

The  dancing,  glancing  eyes  of  one 

With  tears  that  ooze  and  ooze — 
And  nose-tips  weep  as  well  as  they, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  suddenly  some  shadow-bird 
Goes  wavering  beneath  the  gaze, 
And  through  the  hedge  the  moan  is  heard 

Of  kine  that  fain  would  graze 
In  grasses  new,  I  smile  and  say, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 
60 


WHEN    EARLY   MARCH    SEEMS    MIDDLE    MAY 

When  knotted  horse-tails  are  untied, 
And  teamsters  whistle  here  and  there, 

And  clumsy  mitts  are  laid  aside 

And  choppers'  hands  are  bare, 
And  chips  are  thick  where  children  play, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  through  the  twigs  the  farmer  tramps, 
And  troughs  are  chunked  beneath  the  trees, 

And  fragrant  hints  of  sugar-camps 

Astray  in  every  breeze, — 
When  early  March  seems  middle  May, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  coughs  are  changed  to  laughs,  and  when 
Our  frowns  melt  into  smiles  of  glee, 

And  all  our  blood  thaws  out  again 

In  streams  of  ecstasy, 
And  poets  wreak  their  roundelay, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 


61 


THE   NINE   LITTLE   GOBLINS 

THEY  all  climbed  up  on  a  high  board-fence — 
Nine  little  goblins,  with  green-glass  eyes — 
Nine  little  goblins  that"  had  no  sense, 

And  couldn't  tell  coppers  from  cold  mince-pies  ; 
And  they  all  climbed  up  on  the  fence,  and  sat — 
And  I  asked  them  what  they  were  staring  at. 

And  the  first  one  said,  as  he  scratched  his  head 

With  a  queer  little  arm  that  reached  out  of  his  ear 
And  rasped  its  claws  in  his  hair  so  red — 
1  'This  is  what  this  little  arm  is  fer!" 

And  he  scratched  and  stared,  and  the  next  one 

said, 
"How  on  earth  do  you  scratch  your  head?" 

And  he  laughed  like  the  screech  of  a  rusty  hinge — 
Laughed  and  laughed  till  his  face  grew  black ; 

And  when  he  choked,  with  a  final  twinge 
Of  his  stifling  laughter,  he  thumped  his  back 
62 


THE    NINE    LITTLE    GOBLINS 

With  a  fist  that  grew  on  the  end  of  his  tail 
Till  the  breath  came  back  to  his  lips  so  pale. 

And  the  third  little  goblin  leered  round  at  me — 

And  there  were  no  lids  on  his  eyes  at  all, — 
And  he  clucked  one  eye,  and  he  says,  says  he, 
"  What  is  the  style  of  your  socks  this  fall?" 
And  he  clapped  his  heels — and  I  sighed  to  see 
That  he  had  hands  where  his  feet  should  be. 

Then  a  bald-faced  goblin,  gray  and  grim, 

Bowed  his  head,  and  I  saw  him  slip 
His  eyebrows  off,  as  I  looked  at  him, 
/        And  paste  them  over  his  upper  lip ; 

And  then  he  moaned  in  remorseful  pain — 
u  Would — Ah,  would  I'd  me  brows  again!" 

And  then  the  whole  of  the  goblin  band 
Rocked  on  the  fence-top  to  and  fro, 
And  clung,  in  a  long  row,  hand  in  hand, 
Singing  the  songs  that  they  used  to  know — 
Singing  the  songs  that  their  grandsires  sung 
In  the  goo-goo  days  of  the  goblin-tongue. 

63 


THE    NINE    LITTLE    GOBLINS 

And  ever  they  kept  their  green-glass  eyes 

Fixed  on  me  with  a  stony  stare — 
Till  my  own  grew  glazed  with  a  dread  surmise, 
And  my  hat  whooped  up  on  my  lifted  hair, 
And  I  felt  the  heart  in  my  breast  snap  to, 
As  you've  heard  the  lid  of  a  snuff-box  do. 

And  they  sang:    "You're  asleep!      There    is   no 

board-fence, 

And  never  a  goblin  with  green-glass  eyes ! — 
i  'Tis  only  a  vision  the  mind  invents 
After  a  supper  of  cold  mince-pies. — 

And  you're  doomed  to  dream  this  way,"  they 

said, — 

" And  you  sha^n't  wake  up  till  you1  re  clean 
plum  dead!" 


THE  LITTLE  COAT 

HERE'S  his  ragged  "roundabout."  .  ,  . 
Turn  the  pockets  inside  out : 
See;  his  penknife,  lost  to  use, 
Rusted  shut  with  apple-juice; 
Here,  with  marbles,  top  and  string, 
Is  his  deadly  "devil-sling," 
With  its  rubber,  limp  at  last 
As  the  sparrows  of  the  past! 
Beeswax — buckles — leather  straps- 
Bullets,  and  a  box  of  caps, — 
Not  a  thing  of  all,  I  guess, 
But  betrays  some  waywardness — 
E'en  these  tickets,  blue  and  red, 
For  the  Bible-verses  said — 
Such  as  this  his  mem'ry  kept, — 

"Jesus  wept." 

5  65 


THE    LITTLE    COAT 

Here's  a  fishing-hook  and  -line. 

Tangled  up  with  wire  and  twine, 

And  dead  angleworms,  and  some 

Slugs  of  lead  and  chewing-gum, 

Blent  with  scents  that  can  but  come 

From  the  oil  of  rhodium. 

Here — a  soiled,  yet  dainty  note, 

That  some  little  sweetheart  wrote, 

Dotting — "Vine  grows  round  the  stump," 

And — "My  sweetest  sugar-lump!" 

Wrapped  in  this — a  padlock  key 

Where  he's  filed  a  touch-hole — see! 

And  some  powder  in  a  quill 

Corked  up  with  a  liver  pill ; 

And  a  spongy  little  chunk 

Of  "punk." 

Here's  the  little  coat— but  O 
Where  is  he  we've  censured  so? 
Don't  you  hear  us  calling,  dear? 
Back!   come  back,  and  never  fear. — 
You  may  wander  where  you  will, 
Over  orchard,  field  and  hill; 


66 


THE    LITTLE    COAT 

You  may  kill  the  birds,  or  do 
Anything  that  pleases  you ! 
Ah,  this  empty  coat  of  his! 
Every  tatter  worth  a  kiss ; 
Every  stain  as  pure  instead 
As  the  white  stars  overhead : 
And  the  pockets — homes  were  they 
Of  the  little  hands  that  play 
Now  no  more — but,  absent,  thus 
Beckon  us. 


LAWYER  AND   CHILD 

How  large  was  Alexander,  father, 

That  parties  designate 
The  historic  gentleman  as  rather 

Inordinately  great  ? 

Why,  son,  to  speak  with  conscientious 

Regard  for  history, 

Waiving  all  claims,  of  course,  to  heights 
pretentious, — 

About  the  size  of  me. 


68 


EXCEEDING   ALL 

LONG  life's  a  lovely  thing  to  know, 

With  lovely  health  and  wealth,  forsooth, 
And  lovely  name  and  fame — But  O 

The  loveliness  of  Youth ! 


THE    DREAM   OF   THE   LITTLE 
PRINCESS 

'TWAS  a  curious  dream,  good  sooth! — 
The  dream  of  The  Little  Princess ; 

It  seemed  a  dream,  yet  a  truth, 

Long  years  ago  in  her  youth. — 
It  came  as  a  dream — no  less 
It  was  not  a  dream,  she  says. 

(She  is  singing  and  saying  things 

Musical  as  the  wile 
Of  the  eerie  quaverings 
That  drip  from  the  grieved  strings 

Of  her  lute. — We  weep  or  smile 

Even  as  she,  meanwhile.) 


70 


THE    DREAM    OF    THE    LITTLE    PRINCESS 

In  a  day,  long  dead  and  gone, 

When  her  castle-turrets  threw 

Their  long,  sharp  shadows  on 

The  sward  like  lances, — wan 
And  lone,  she  strayed  into 
Strange  grounds  where  lilies  grew. 

There,  late  in  the  afternoon, 

As  she  sate  in  the  terrace  shade, 

Rav'ling  a  half-spun  tune 

From  a  lute  like  a  wee  new-moon, — 
High  off  was  a  bugle  played, 
And  a  sound  as  of  steeds  that  neighed, 

And  the  lute  fell  from  her  hands, 

As  her  eyes  raised,  half  in  doubt, 
To  the  arch  of  the  azure  lands 
Where  lo !  with  the  fluttering  strands 
Of  a  rainbow  reined  about 
His  wrist,  rode  a  horseman  out. 

And  The  Little  Princess  was  stirred 
No  less  at  his  steeds  than  him ; — 


THE    DREAM    OF    THE    LITTLE    PRINCESS 

A  jet-black  span  of  them  gird 
In  advance,  he  bestrode  the  third ; 

And  the  troop  of  them  seemed  to  swim 

The  skies  as  the  Seraphim. 

Wingless  they  were,  yet  so 

Upborne  in  their  wondrous  flight — 

As  their  master  bade  them  go, 

They  dwindled  on  high  ;  or  lo ! 

They  curved  from  their  heavenmost  height 
And  swooped  to  her  level  sight. 

And  the  eyes  of  The  Little  Princess 
Grow  O  so  bright  as  the  chants 

Of  the  horseman's  courtliness, — 

Saluting  her  low — Ah,  yes! 

And  lifting  a  voice  that  haunts 
Her  own  song's  weird  romance. 

For  (she  sings)  at  last  he  swept 
As  near  to  her  as  the  tips 

Of  the  lilies,  that  whitely  slept, 

As  he  leaned  o'er  one  and  wept 
And  touched  it  with  his  lips- 
Sweeter  than  honey-drips ! 
72 


THE    DREAM    OF    THE    LITTLE    PRINCESS 

And  she  keeps  the  lily  yet — 

As  the  horseman  bade  (she  says) 

As  he  launched,  with  a  wild  curvet, 

His  steeds  toward  the  far  sunset, 
Till  gulfed  in  its  gorgeousness 
And  lost  to  The  Little  Princess : 

But  O,  my  master  sweet! 

He  is  coming  again  I  {she  sings) 
My  Prince  of  the  Coursers  fleet, 

With  his  bugle's  echoings, 

And  the  breath  of  his  voice  for  the  ivings 
Of  the  sandals  of  h  is  feet  I 


73 


THE   LAND   OF  USED-TO-BE 

AND  where' s  the  Land  of  Used-to-be,  does  little 

baby  wonder? 
Oh,  we  will  clap  a  magic  saddle  over  "PoppieV 

knee 
And  ride  away  around  the  world,  and  in  and  out 

and  under 

The  whole  of  all  the  golden  sunny  Summer 
time  and  see. 

Leisurely  and  lazy-like  we'll  jostle  on  our  journey, 
And  let  the  pony  bathe  his  hooves  and  cool  them 

in  the  dew, 
As  he  sidles  down  the  shady  way,  and  lags  along 

the  ferny 

And  green,  grassy  edges  of  the  lane  we  travel 
through. 

And  then  we'll  canter  on  to  catch  the  bubble  of  the 

thistle 

As  it  bumps  among  the  butterflies  and  glimmers 
down  the  sun, 

74 


THE    LAND    OF    USED-TO-BE 

To  leave  us  laughing,  all  content  to  hear  the  robin 

whistle 

Or  guess  what  Katydid  is  saying  little  Katy's 
done. 

And  pausing  here  a  minute,  where  we  hear  the 

squirrel  chuckle 

As  he  darts  from  out  the  underbrush  and  scam 
pers  up  the  tree, 
We  will  gather  buds  and  locust-blossoms,  leaves 

and  honeysuckle, 

To  wreathe  around  our  foreheads,  riding  into 
Used-to-be ; — 

For  here's  the  very  rim  of  it  that  we  go  swinging 

over — 
Don't  you  hear  the  Fairy  bugles,  and  the  tinkle 

of  the  bells, 
And  see  the  baby-bumblebees  that  tumble  in  the 

clover 

And  dangle  from  the  tilted  pinks  and  tipsy  pim 
pernels  ? 


THE    LAND    OF    USED-TO-BE 

And  don't  you  see  the  merry  faces  of  the  daffo 
dillies, 

And  the  jolly  Johnny-jump-ups,  and  the  butter 
cups  a-glee, 

And  the  low,  lolling  ripples  ring  around  the  water- 
lilies?— 

All  greeting  us  with  laughter,  to  the  Land  of 
Used-to-be ! 

And  here  among  the  blossoms  of  the  blooming 

vines  and  grasses, 
With  a  haze  forever  hanging  in  the  sky  forever 

blue, 
And  with  a  breeze  from  over  seas  to  kiss  us  as  it 

passes, 

We  will  romp  around  forever  as  the  airy  Elfins 
do! 

For  all  the  elves  of  earth  and  air  are  swarming 

here  together — 
The  prankish  Puck,  King  Oberon,  and  Queen 

Titania  too ; 
And  dear  old  Mother  Goose  herself,  as  sunny  as 

the  weather, 

Comes  dancing  down  the  dewy  walks  to  wel 
come  me  and  you ! 


WHEN  OUR  BABY  DIED 

WHEN  our  baby  died — 
My  Ma  she  ist  cried  an*  cried ! 
Yes  'n'  my  Pa  he  cried,  too — 
An'  /cried — An'  me  an'  you.— 
An*  I  'tended  like  my  doll 
She  cried  too — An'  ever' — all — 
O  ist  everybody  cried 

When  our  baby  died ! 

When  our  baby  died — 
Nen  I  got  to  took  a  ride ! 
An'  we  all  ist  rode  an'  rode 
Clean  to  Heav'n  where  baby  goed— » 
Mighty  nigh ! — An'  nen  Ma  she 
Cried  ag'in — an'  Pa — an'  me. — 
All  but  ist  the  Angels  cried 

When  our  baby  died  1 


77 


CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  DOLLY  WHO  COMES  FROM 

TENTOLEENA  LAND 
BRINGING  A  STRANGE  LETTER 

The  Letter 

THIS  little  Dolly's  name  is  Christine  Braibry.* 
She  was  born  in  Tentoleena  Land,  where  lilies 
and  red  roses  grow  in  the  air,  and  humming-birds 
and  butterflies  on  stalks. 

You  must  be  kind  to  Christine,  for  everything 
about  her  in  your  land  will  be  very  strange  to  her. 
If  she  seems  to  stare  in  a  bewildered  way,  and  will 
not  answer  when  you  ask  her  why,  you  must  know 
that  she  is  simply  dazed  with  the  wonders  that  she 
sees  on  every  hand.  It  will  doubtless  be  a  long, 
long  while  before  Christine  will  cease  to  marvel  at 
the  Sunshine  of  your  strange  country ;  for  in  Ten- 

*  The  terminal  of  this  name  is  sounded  short,  as  in 
"  lovely." 

7s 


CHRISTINE    BRAIBRY 

toleena  Land  there  is  never  any  shine  but  Moon 
shine,  and  sometimes  that  gets  so  muddied  up  with 
shade  it  soils  the  eyesight  to  gaze  at  it  overmuch. 

It  will  be  trying,  in  your  land,  for  Christine  to 
keep  silent  all  the  time,  for,  in  your  country,  Dol 
lies  cannot  walk  and  talk  at  all  perfectly,  because 
they  only  think  they  are  dreaming  all  the  time, 
and  they  dare  not  speak  for  fear  their  voices  will 
awaken  them,  and  they  dare  not  move  for  fear  of 
falling  out  of  bed.  So,  you  see,  you  should  be 
very  kind  indeed  to  little  Christine  Braibry. 

In  Tentoleena  Land  the  Dollies  do  not  sleep 
long — they  are  always  the  first  ones  up  at  Moon- 
dawn — for  Moon-dawn  is  the  Dollies'  morning. 
Then  they  go  out  in  the  fragrant  grasses,  where  the 
big,  ripe  dewdrops  grow — much  nicer,  purer  dew 
than  yours  on  earth,  for  in  Tentoleena  Land  they 
gather  it  before  it  has  been  skimmed,  and  all  the 
pearly  cream  that  gathers  on  the  surface  of  the 
drops  they  stir  up  with  the  rest  and  bathe  in  that ; 
and  this  is  why  the  Dollies  always  have  such  deli 
cate  complexions.  Then,  when  the  baths  are  over, 
they  dress  themselves,  and  waken  their  parents. 


79 


CHRISTINE    BRAIBRY 

and  dress  them — for  in  Tentoleena  Land  the  par 
ents  are  the  children.  Is  not  that  odd? 

Sometime  Christine  may  get  used  to  your 
strange  land  and  all  the  wonders  that  she  sees ; 
and  if  she  ever  does,  and  smiles  at  you,  and  pulls 
your  face  down  close  to  hers  and  kisses  you,  why, 
that  will  be  the  sign  by  which  you'll  know  she's 
coming  to  again  and  wants  to  talk ;  and  so  the  first 
thing  you  must  ask  of  her  is  to  sing  this  little  song 
she  made  of  Tentoleena  Land.  Only  the  words 
of  it  can  be  given  here — (not  half  the  beauty  of  the 
dainty  song) — for  when  you  hear  it,  in  the  marvel 
lously  faint,  and  low,  and  sweet,  and  tender,  tink 
ling  tongue  of  Tentoleena  Land,  you  will  indeed 
be  glad  that  the  gracious  fairy  Fortune  ever  sent 
you  Christine  Braibry. 

So,  since  all  the  sounds  in  the  melodious  utter 
ance  of  Tentoleena  Land  are  so  exquisitely,  so 
chastely,  rarely  beautiful  no  earthly  art  may  hope 
to  reproduce  them,  you  must,  as  you  here  read  the 
words,  just  shut  your  eyes  and  fancy  that  you  hear 
little  Christine  Braibry  singing  this  eerie  song  of 
hers: — 


80 


CHRISTINE'S   SONG 

UP  in  Tentoleena  Land — 

Tentoleena !   Tentoleena ! 
All  the  Dollies,  hand  in  hand, 

Mina,  Nainie,  and  Serena, 
Dance  the  Fairy  fancy  dances, 
With  glad  songs  and  starry  glances, 
Lisping  roundelays;  and,  after, 
Bird-like  interludes  of  laughter 
Strewn  and  scattered  o'er  the  lawn 
Their  gilt  sandals  twinkle  on 
Through  light  mists  of  silver  sand 
Up  in  Tentoleena  Land. 

Up  in  Tentoleena  Land — 

Tentoleena !  Tentoleena ! 
Blares  the  eerie  Elfin  band — 

Trumpet,  harp  and  concertina- 
Larkspur  bugle — honeysuckle 
Cornet,  with  a  quickstep  chuckle 
In  its  golden  throat;  and,  maybe, 
Lilies-of-the-valley  they  be 
6  81 


CHRISTINE    BRAIBRY 

Baby-silver-bells  that  chime 
Musically  all  the  time, 
Tossed  about  from  hand  to  hand: — 
Up  in  Tentoleena  Land. 

Up  in  Tentoleena  Land — 

Tentoleena!  Tentoleena! 
Dollies  dark,  and  blonde  and  bland — 

Sweet  as  musk-rose  or  verbena — 
Sweet  as  moon-blown  daffodillies, 

Or  wave-jostled  water-lilies, 
Yearning  to'rd  the  rose-mouths,  ready 
Leaning  o'er  the  river's  eddy, — 
Dance,  and  glancing  fling  to  you, 
Through  these  lines  you  listen  to, 
Kisses  blown  from  lip  and  hand 

Out  of  Tentoleena  Land ! 


82 


THE   SQUIRT-GUN  UNCLE   MAKED  ME 

UNCLE  SIDNEY,  when  he  was  here, 

Maked  me  a  squirt-gun  out  o'  some 
Elder-bushes  'at  growed  out  near 
Where  wuz  the  brick-yard — 'way  out  clear 
To  where  the  Toll  Gate  come ! 

So  when  we  walked  back  home  again, 

He  maked  it,  out  in  our  woodhouse  where 
Wuz  the  old  work-bench,  an'  the  old  jack-plane, 
An'  the  old  'poke-shave,  an'  the  tools  all  lay'n' 
1st  like  he  wants  'em  there. 

He  sawed  it  first  with  the  old  hand-saw ; 

An'  nen  he  peeled  off  the  bark,  an'  got 
Some  glass  an'  scraped  it ;  an'  told  'bout  Pa, 
When  he  wuz  a  boy  an'  fooled  his  Ma, 

An'  the  whippin*  'at  he  caught. 


THE  SQUIRT-GUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME 

Nen  Uncle  Sidney,  he  took  an'  filed 

A'  old  arn  ramrod;  an*  one  o'  the  ends 
He  screwed  fast  into  the  vise ;  an'  smiled, 
Thinkin',  he  said,  o'  when  he  wuz  a  child, 
'Fore  him  an'  Pa  wuz  mens. 

He  punched  out  the  peth,  an'  nen  he  putt 

A  plug  in  the  end  with  a  hole  notched  through  ; 
Nen  took  the  old  drawey-knife  an'  cut 
An'  maked  a  handle  'at  shoved  clean  shut 
But  ist  where  yer  hand  held  to. 

An'  he  wropt  th'uther  end  with  some  string  an' 

white 

Piece  o'  the  sleeve  of  a'  old  tored  shirt ; 
An'  nen  he  showed  me  to  hold  it  tight, 
An'  suck  in  the  water  an'  work  it  right. — 
An*  it  'ud  ist  squirt  an'  squirt! 


THE  BROOK-SONG 

LITTLE  brook !    Little  brook ! 
You  have  such  a  happy  look — 
Such  a  very   merry  manner,   as  you   swerve  and 

curve  and  crook — 
And  your  ripples,  one  and  one, 
Reach  each  other's  hands  and  run 

Like  laughing  little  children  in  the  sun ! 

Little  brook,  sing  to  me : 
Sing  about  a  bumblebee 
That  tumbled  from  a  lily-bell  and  grumbled  mum- 

blingly, 

Because  he  wet  the  film 
Of  his  wings,  and  had  to  swim, 

While  the  water-bugs  raced  round  and 
laughed  at  him ! 

85 


THE     BROOK-SONG 

Little  brook — sing  a  song 
Of  a  leaf  that  sailed  along 
Down  the  golden-braided  centre  of  your  current 

swift  and  strong, 
And  a  dragon-fly  that  lit 
On  the  tilting  rim  of  it, 

And  rode  away  and  wasn't  scared  a  bit. 

And  sing — how  oft  in  glee 
Came  a  truant  boy  like  me, 

Who  loved  to  lean  and  listen  to  your  lilting  melody, 
Till  the  gurgle  and  refrain 
Of  your  music  in  his  brain 

Wrought  a  happiness  as  keen  to  him  as 
pain. 

Little  brook — laugh  and  leap ! 
Do  not  let  the  dreamer  weep : 
Sing  him  all  the  songs  of  summer  till  he  sink  in 

softest  sleep ; 

And  then  sing  soft  and  low 
Through  his  dreams  of  long  ago — 

Sing  back  to  him  the  rest  he  used  to  know ! 


86 


THE   YOUTHFUL  PRESS. 

LITTLE  Georgie  Tempers,  he 
Printed  some  fine  cards  for  me ; 
But  his  press  had  "  J  "  for  James — 
By  no  means  the  choice  of  names. — 

Yet  it's  proper,  none  the  less, 
That  his  little  printing-press 
Should  be  taught  that  James  for  ''J'' 
Always  is  the  better  way. 

For,  if  left  to  its  own  whim, 
Next  time  it  might  call  me  "Jim," — 
Then  THE  CULTURED  PRESS  would  be 
Shocked  at  such  a  liberty. 

Therefore,  little  presses  all 

Should  be  trained,  while  they  are  small, 

To  develop  taste  in  these 

Truths  that  shape  our  destinies. 


THAT-AIR  YOUNG-UN 

THAT-AIR  young-un  ust  to  set 
By  the  crick  here  day  by  day, — 
Watch  the  swallers  dip  and  w'et 
Their  slim  wings  and  skoot  away ; 
Watch  these  little  snipes  along 
The  low  banks  tilt  up  and  down 
'Mongst  the  reeds,  and  hear  the  song 
Of  the  bullfrogs  croakin'  roun' : 
Ust  to  set  here  in  the  sun 
Watchin'  things,  and  listenun, 
'Peared-like,  mostly  to  the  roar 
Of  the  dam  below,  er  to 
That-air  riffle  nigh  the  shore 
Jes  acrost  from  me  and  you. 
Ust  to  watch  him  from  the  door 
Of  the  mill. — Ud  rigg  him  out 
With  a  fishin'-pole  and  line — 
Dig  worms  fer  him — nigh  about 
88 


THAT- AIR   YOUNG-UN 

Jes  spit  on  his  bait! — but  he 
Never  keered  much,  'pearantly, 
To  ketch  fish!— He  'druther  fine 
Out  some  sunny  place,  and  set 
Watchin'  things,  with  droopy  head, 
And  u  a-listenun,"  he  said — 
"Kindo*  listenun  above 
The  old  crick  to  what  the  wet 
Warter  was  a-talkin*  of!" 

Jevver  hear  sich  talk  as  that? 

Bothered  Mother  more'n  me 

What  the  child  was  cipher'n'  at. — 

Come  home  onc't  and  said  'at  he 

Knowed  what  the  snake-feeders  thought 

When  they  grit  their  wings ;  and  knowed 

Turkle-talk,  when  bubbles  riz 

Over  where  the  old  roots  growed 

Where  he  th'owed  them  pets  o'  his — 

Little  turripuns  he  caught 

In  the  County  Ditch  and  packed 

In  his  pockets  days  and  days ! — 

Said  he  knowed  what  goslin's  quacked — 

Could  tell  what  the  killdees  sayes, 


THAT-AIR    YOUNG-UN 

And  grasshoppers,  when  they  lit 
In  the  crick  and  "minnies"  bit 
Off  their  legs. — "But,  blame!"  says  he, 
Sorto'  lookin'  clean  above 
Mother's  head  and  on  through  me — 
(And  them  eyes! — I  see  'em  yet!) — 
"Blame!"  he  says,  "ef  I  kin  see, 
Er  make  out,  jes  what  the  wet 
Warter  is  a-talkin'  of!" 

Made  me  nervous!     Mother,  though, 
Said  best  not  to  scold  the  child — 
The  Good  Bein'  knowed. — And  so 
We  was  only  rickonciled 
When  he'd  be  asleep. — And  then, 
Time,  and  time,  and  time  again, 
We've  watched  over  him,  you  know — 
Her  a-sayin'  nothin' — jes 
Kindo'  smoothin'  back  his  hair, 
And,  all  to  herse'f,  I  guess, 
Studyin'  up  some  kind  o'  prayer 
She  ain't  tried  yet. — Onc't  she  said, 
Cotin'  Scriptur',  "  'He,'  "  says  she, 
In  a  solemn  whisper,  "  'He 

Givuth  His  beloved  sleep!'  " 
90 


THAT-AIR   YOUNG-UN 

And  jes  then  I  heerd  the  rain 
Strike  the  shingles,  as  I  turned 
Res'less  to'rds  the  wall  again. 
Pity  strong  men  dast  to  weep ! — 
Specially  when  up  above 
Thrash  !  the  storm  comes  down  and  you 
Feel  the  midnight  plum  soaked  through 
Heart  and  soul,  and  wunder,  too, 
What  the  warter's  talkin'  of! 


Found  his  hat  'way  down  below 
Hinchman's  Ford. — 'Ves'  Anders  he 
Rid  and  fetched  it.     Mother  she 
Went  wild  over  that,  you  know — 
Hugged  it!  kissed  it! — Turribull 
My  hopes  then  was  all  gone  too.   .   .   . 
Brung  him  in,  with  both  hands  full 
O'  warter-lilies — 'peared-like  new- 
Bloomed  fer  him — renched  whiter  still 
In  the  clear  rain,  mixin'  fine 
And  finer  in  the  noon  sunshine. 


91 


THAT-AIR   YOUNG-UN 

Winders  of  the  old  mill  looked 
On  him  where  the  hill-road  crooked 
In  on  through  the  open  gate.   .   .   . 
Laid  him  on  the  old  settee 
On  the  porch  there.     Heerd  the  great 
Roarin'  dam  acrost — and  we 
Heerd  a  crane  cry  in  amongst 
The  sycamores — and  then  a  dove 
Cutterin'  on  the  mill-roof — then 
Heerd  the  crick,  and  thought  again,' 
"Now  what's  it  a-talkin'  of?" 


92 


BABY'S  DYING 

BABY'S  dying, 

Do  not  stir — 

Let  her  spirit  lightly  float 
Through  the  sighing 
Lips  of  her — 

Still  the  murmur  in  the  throat ; 
Let  the  moan  of  grief  be  curbed — 
Baby  must  not  be  disturbed ! 

Baby's  dying, 

Do  not  stir — 

Let  her  pure  life  lightly  swim 
Through  the  sighing 
Lips  of  her — 

Out  from  us  and  up  to  HIM — 
Let  her  leave  us  with  that  smile — 
Kiss  and  miss  her  after  while. 


93 


THE   BOYS 

WHERE  are  they? — the  friends  of  my  childhood 

enchanted — 

The  clear,  laughing  eyes  looking  back  in  my  own, 
And  the  warm,  chubby  fingers  my  palms  have  so 

wanted, 
As  when  we  raced  over 

Pink  pastures  of  clover, 

And  mocked  the  quail's  whir  and  the  bumblebee's 
drone  ? 

Have  the  breezes  of  time  blown  their  blossomy 

faces 

Forever  adrift  down  the  years  that  are  flown  ? 
Am  I  never  to  see  them  romp  back  to  their  places, 
Where  over  the  meadow, 

In  sunshine  and  shadow, 
The  meadow-larks  trill,  and  the  bumblebees  drone  ? 


94 


THE    BOYS 

Where  are  they  ?     Ah !   dim  in  the  dust  lies  the 

clover ; 

The  whippoorwill's  call  has  a  sorrowful  tone, 
And  the  dove's — I  have  wept  at  it  over  and  over ; — 
I  want  the  glad  lustre 

Of  youth,  and  the  cluster 
Of  faces  asleep  where  the  bumblebees  drone ! 


95 


OLD  MAN'S  NURSERY  RHYME 


IN  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  long-ago, 
It  was  not  so  cold  as  now — 

O!  No!  No! 
Then,  as  I  remember, 

Snowballs  to  eat 
Were  as  good  as  apples  now, 

And  every  bit  as  sweet ! 

II 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  dead-and-gone, 

Bub  was  warm  as  summer, 
With  his  red  mitts  on, — 


OLD    MAN'S    NURSERY    RHYME 

Just  in  his  little  waist- 
And-pants  all  together, 

Who  ever  heard  him  growl 
About  cold  weather? 


Ill 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  long-ago — 
Was  it  half  so  cold  as  now  ? 

O !  No !  No ! 
Who  caught  his  death  o*  cold, 

Making  prints  of  men 
Flat-backed  in  snow  that  now's 

Twice  as  cold  again? 

IV 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  dead-and-gone, 

Startin'  out  rabbit  huntin'— 
Early  as  the  dawn, — 

97 


Who  ever  froze  his  fingers, 
Ears,  heels,  or  toes, — 

Or' d  'a'  cared  if  he  had? 
Nobody  knows ! 


Nights  by  the  kitchen-stove, 

Shellin'  white  and  red 
Corn  in  the  skillet,  and 

Sleepin'  four  abed ! 
Ah !  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  long-ago ! 
We  were  not  as  old  as  now— 

O!  No!  No! 


98 


THE  SONG  OF  YESTERDAY 

I 

BUT  yesterday 

I  looked  away 

O'er  happy  lands,  where  sunshine  lay 

In  golden  blots 

Inlaid  with  spots 

Of  shade  and  wild  forget-me-nots. 

My  head  was  fair 

With  flaxen  hair, 

And  fragrant  breezes,  faint  and  rare, 

And,  warm  with  drouth 

From  out  the  south, 

Blew  all  my  curls  across  my  mouth. 

And,  cool  and  sweet, 

My  naked  feet 

Found  dewy  pathways  through  the  wheat ; 

And  out  again 

Where,  down  the  lane, 

The  dust  was  dimpled  with  the  rain. 

99 


THE     SONG    OF    YESTERDAY 


II 


But  yesterday! — 

Adream,  astray, 

From  morning's  red  to  evening's  gray, 

O'er  dales  and  hills 

Of  daffodills 

And  lorn  sweet-fluting  whippoorwills. 

I  knew  nor  cares 

Nor  tears  nor  prayers — 

A  mortal  god,  crowned  unawares 

With  sunset — and 

A  sceptre-wand 

Of  apple  blossoms  in  my  hand ! 

The  dewy  blue 

Of  twilight  grew 

To  purple,  with  a  star  or  two 

Whose  lisping  rays 

Failed  in  the  blaze 

Of  sudden  fireflies  through  the  haze. 

100 


THE     SONG    OF    YESTERDAY 
III 

But  yesterday 

I  heard  the  lay 

O  summer  birds,  when  I,  as  they 

With  breast  and  wing, 

All  quivering 

With  life  and  love,  could  only  sing. 

My  head  was  lent 

Where,  with  it,  blent 

A  maiden's  o'er  her  instrument; 

While  all  the  night, 

From  vale  to  height, 

Was  filled  with  echoes  of  delight. 

And  all  our  dreams 

Were  lit  with  gleams 

Of  that  lost  land  of  reedy  streams, 

Along  whose  brim 

Forever  swim 

Pan's  lilies,  laughing  up  at  him. 

101 


THE     SONG    OF    YESTERDAY 


IV 

But  yesterday !   .  .  . 

O  blooms  of  May, 

And  summer  roses — where  away? 

O  stars  above ; 

And  lips  of  love, 

And  all  the  honeyed  sweets  thereof!- 

O  lad  and  lass, 

And  orchard  pass, 

And  briered  lane,  and  daisied  grass! 

O  gleam  and  gloom, 

And  woodland  bloom, 

And  breezy  breaths  of  all  perfume  !- 

No  more  for  me 

Or  mine  shall  be 

Thy  raptures — save  in  memory,— 

No  more — no  more — 

Till  through  the  Door 

Of  Glory  gleam  the  days  of  yore. 

103 


DUSK-SONG— THE  BEETLE 

THE  shrilling  locust  slowly  sheathes 

His  dagger-voice,  and  creeps  away 
Beneath  the  brooding  leaves  where  breathes 

The  zephyr  of  the  dying  day : 
One  naked  star  has  waded  through 

The  purple  shallows  of  the  night, 
And  faltering  as  falls  the  dew 

It  drips  its  misty  light. 

O'er  garden  blooms, 

On  tides  of  musk, 
The  beetle  booms  adown  the  glooms 

And  bumps  along  the  dusk. 

The  katydid  is  rasping  at 

The  silence  from  the  tangled  broom: 
On  drunken  wings  the  flitting  bat 

Goes  staggering  athwart  the  gloom ; 
103 


DUSK-SONG THE    BEETLE 

The  toadstool  bulges  through  the  weeds, 
And  lavishly  to  left  and  right 

The  fireflies,  like  golden  seeds, 
Are  sown  about  the  night. 

O'er  slumbrous  blooms, 

On  floods  of  musk, 
The  beetle  booms  adown  the  glooms 

And  bumps  along  the  dusk. 

The  primrose  flares  its  baby-hands 

Wide  open,  as  the  empty  moon, 
Slow  lifted  from  the  underlands, 

Drifts  up  the  azure-arched  lagoon ; 
The  shadows  on  the  garden  walk 

Are  frayed  with  rifts  of  silver  light; 
And,  trickling  down  the  poppy-stalk, 

The  dewdrop  streaks  the  night. 

O'er  folded  blooms, 

On  swirls  of  musk, 
The  beetle  booms  adown  the  glooms 

And  bumps  along  the  dusk. 


104 


BABYHOOD 

HEIGH-HO  !  Babyhood !     Tell  me  where  you  lin 
ger! 

Let's  toddle  home  again,  for  we  have  gone  as 
tray  ; 
Take  this  eager  hand  of  mine  and  lead  me  by  the 

finger 
Back  to  the  lotus-lands  of  the  far-away! 

Turn  back  the  leaves    of   life. — Don't  read   the 
story. — 

Let's  find  the  pictures,  and  fancy  all  the  rest; 
We  can  fill  the  written  pages  with  a  brighter  glory 

Than  old  Time,  the  story-teller,  at  his  very  best. 

Turn  to  the  brook  where  the  honeysuckle  tipping 
O'er  its  vase  of  perfume  spills  it  on  the  breeze, 
And  the  bee  and  humming-bird  in  ecstasy  are  sip 
ping 

From  the  fairy-flagons  of  the  blooming  locust- 
trees. 


BABYHOOD 

Turn  to  the  lane  where  we  used  to  * 'teeter-totter," 
Printing  little  foot-palms  in  the  mellow  mould — 

Laughing  at  the  lazy  cattle  wading  in  the  water 
Where  the  ripples  dimple  round  the  buttercups 
of  gold. 

Where  the  dusky  turtle  lies  basking  on  the  gravel 
Of  the  sunny  sand-bar  in  the  middle  tide, 

And  the  ghostly  dragon-fly  pauses  in  his  travel 
To  rest  like  a  blossom  where  the  water-lily  died. 

Heigh-ho !  Babyhood !     Tell  me  where  you  linger ! 
Let's  toddle   home    again,  for   we   have  gone 

astray ; 
Take  this  eager  hand  of  mine  and  lead  me  by  the 

finger 
Back  to  the  lotus-lands  of  the  far-away! 


106 


MAX  AND  JIM 

MAX  an'  Jim, 

They're  each  other's 
Fat  an'  slim 

Little  brothers. 

Max  is  thin, 

An'  Jim,  the  fac's  is, 
Fat  ag'in 

As  little  Max  is! 

Their  Pa  'lowed 

He  don't  know  whuther 
He's  most  proud 

Of  one  er  th' other! 

Their  Ma  says 

They're  both  so  sweet — 'mt- 
That  she  guess 

She'll  haf  to  eat  'em! 

107 


THE    CIRCUS-DAY   PARADE 

OH!  the  Circus-Day  Parade!  How  the  bugles 
played  and  played ! 

Aud  how  the  glossy  horses  tossed  their  flossy  manes 
and  neighed, 

As  the  rattle  and  the  rhyme  of  the  tenor-drum 
mer's  time 

Filled  all  the  hungry  hearts  of  us  with  melody 
sublime ! 

How  the  grand  band-wagon  shone  with  a  splendor 

all  its  own, 
And  glittered  with  a  glory  that  our  dreams  had 

never  known! 
And  how  the  boys  behind,  high  and  low  of  eve>y 

kind, 
Marched  in  unconscious  capture,  with  a  rapture 

undefined ! 


1 08 


THE    CIRCUS-DAY    PARADE 

How  the  horsemen,  two  and  two,  with  their  plumes 

of  white  and  blue 
And  crimson,  gold  and  purple,  nodding  by  at  me 

and  you, 
Waved  the  banners  that  they  bore,  as  the  knights 

in  days  of  yore, 
Till  our  glad  eyes  gleamed  and  glistened  like  the 

spangles  that  they  wore ! 

How  the  graceless-graceful  stride  of  the  elephant 

was  eyed, 
And  the  capers  of  the  little  horse  that  cantered  at 

his  side ! 
How  the  shambling  camels,  tame  to  the  plaudits 

of  their  fame, 
With  listless  eyes  came  silent,  masticating  as  they 

came. 

How  the  cages  jolted  past,  with  each  wagon  bat 
tened  fast, 

And  the  mystery  within  it  only  hinted  of  at  last 

From  the  little  grated  square  in  the  rear,  and 
nosing  there 

The  snout  of  some  strange  animal  that  sniffed  the 

outer  air  1 

109 


"THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE 

And,  last  of  all,  The  Clown,  making  mirth  for  all 

the  town, 
With  his  lips  curved  ever  upward  and  his  eye* 

brows  ever  down, 
And  his  chief  attention  paid  to  the  little  muje  that 

played 
A  tattoo  on  the  dash-board  with  his  heels,  in  the 

Parade. 

Oh !  the  Circus-Day  Parade !  How  the  bugles 
played  and  played ! 

And  how  the  glossy  horses  tossed  their  flossy 
manes  and  neighed, 

As  the  rattle  and  the  rhyme  of  the  tenor-drum 
mer's  time 

Filled  all  the  hungry  hearts  of  us  with  melody  sub 
lime! 


no 


THE  OLD  HAY-MOW 

THE  Old  Hay-mow's  the  place  to  play 
Fer  boys,  when  it's  a  rainy  day! 
I  good  'eal  ruther  be  up  there 
Than  down  in  town,  er  anywhere! 

When  I  play  in  our  stable-loft, 
The  good  old  hay's  so  dry  an'  soft, 
An'  feels  so  fine,  an'  smells  so  sweet, 
I  'most  ferget  to  go  an'  eat. 

An'  one  time  onc't  I  did  ferget 

To  go  tel  dinner  was  all  et, — 

An'  they  had  short-cake — an' — Bud  he 

Hogged  up  the  piece  Ma  saved  fer  me ! 

Nen  I  won't  let  him  play  no  more 
In  our  hay-mow  where  I  keep  store 
An'  got  hen-eggs  to  sell, — an*  shoo 
The  cackle-un  old  hen  out,  too  1 
III 


THE    OLD    HAY-MOW 

An*  nen,  when  Aunty  she  was  here 
A-visitun  from  Rensselaer, 
An'  bringed  my  little  cousin, — he 
Can  come  up  there  an'  play  with  me. 

But,  after  while — when  Bud  he  bets 
'At  I  can't  turn  no  summersetts, 
I  let  him  come  up,  ef  he  can 
Ac'  ha'f-way  like  a  gentleman! 


JOHN    TARKINGTON   JAMESON 

JOHN  JAMESON,  my  jo  John ! 

Ye're  bonnie  wee  an'  sma' ; 
Your  ee's  the  morning  violet, 

Wi'  tremblin'  dew  an'  a' ; 
Your  smile's  the  gowden  simmer-sheen, 

Wi'  glintin'  pearls  aglow 
Atween  the  posies  o'  your  lips, 

John  Jameson,  my  jo ! 

Ye  hae  the  faither's  braith  o'  brow, 

An'  synes  his  look  benign 
Whiles  he  hings  musin'  ower  the  burn, 

Wi'  leestless  hook  an'  line ; 
Ye  hae  the  mither's  mou'  an'  cheek 

An'  denty  chin — but  O  ! 
It's  maist  ye're  like  your  ain  braw  seP, 

John  Jameson,  my  jo ! 

8  113 


JOHN    TARKINGTON   JAMESON 

John  Jameson,  my  jo  John, 

Though,  wi'  sic  luvers  twain, 
Ye  dance  far  yont  your  whustlin'  frien* 

Wha  laggart  walks  his  lane,^«- 
Be  mindet,  though  he  naps  his  last 

Whaur  kirkyird  thistles  grow, 
His  ghaist  shall  caper  on  wi'  you, 

John  Jameson,  my  jo ! 


114 


GUINEY-PIGS 

GUINEY-PIGS  is  awful  cute, 

With  their  little  trimbly  snoot 

Sniffin'  at  the  pussly  that 

We  bring  'em  to  nibble  at. 

Looks  like  they're  so  clean  an'  white, 
An'  so  dainty  an'  polite, 
They  could  eat  like  you  an'  me 
When  they's  company! 

Tiltin'  down  the  clover-tops 
Till  they  spill,  an'  over  drops 
The  sweet  morning  dew — Don't  you 
Think  they  might  have  napkins,  too? 
Ef  a  guiney-pig  was  big 
As  a  shore-ari ' -certain  pig, 
Nen  he  wouldn't  ac'  so  fine 
When  he  come  to  dine. 

"5 


GUINEY-PIGS 

Nen  he'd  chomp  his  jaws  an'  eat 
Things  out  in  the  dirty  street, 
Dirt  an'  all !     An'  nen  lay  down 
In  mud-holes  an'  waller  roun' ! 
So  the  guiney-pigs  is  best, 
'Cause  they're  nice  an'  tidiest; 
They  eat  'most  like  you  an'  me 
When  they's  company! 


116 


BUSCH  AND  TOMMY 

LITTLE  Busch  and  Tommy  Hays — 
Small  the  theme,  but  large  the  praise, — 

For  two  braver  brothers, 
Of  such  toddling  years  and  size, 
Bloom  of  face,  and  blue  of  eyes, 
Never  trampled  soldier-wise 

On  the  rights  of  mothers ! 

Even  boldly  facing  their 
Therapeutic  father's  air 

Of  complex  abstraction, 
But  to  kindle — kindlier  gaze, 
Wake  more  smiles  and  gracious  ways — 
Ay,  nor  find  in  all  their  days 

Ampler  satisfaction ! 

Hail  ye,  then,  with  chirp  and  cheer, 
All  wan  patients,  waiting  here 

Bitterer  medications ! 
Busch  and  Tommy,  tone  us,  too. — 
How  our  life-blood  leaps  anew, 
Under  loving  touch  of  you 

And  your  ministrations ! 
117 


HIS   CHRISTMAS   SLED 


I  WATCH  him,  with  his  Christmas  sled ; 

He  hitches  on  behind 
A  passing  sleigh,  with  glad  hooray, 

And  whistles  down  the  wind ; 
He  hears  the  horses  champ  their  bits, 

And  bells  that  jingle-jingle — 
You  Woolly  Cap !  you  Scarlet  Mitts ! 

You  miniature  "Kriss  Kringle!" 

I  almost  catch  your  secret  joy — 

Your  chucklings  of  delight, 
The  while  you  whiz  where  glory  is 

Eternally  in  sight ! 
With  you  I  catch  my  breath,  as  swift 

Your  jaunty  sled  goes  gliding 
O'er  glassy  track  and  shallow  drift, 

As  I  behind  were  riding ! 
n8 


HIS    CHRISTMAS    SLED 
II 

He  winks  at  twinklings  of  the  frost, 

And  on  his  airy  race, 
Its  tingles  beat  to  redder  heat 

The  rapture  of  his  face : — 
The  colder,  keener  is  the  air, 

The  less  he  cares  a  feather. 
But,  there!  he's  gone!  and  I  gaze  on 

The  wintriest  of  weather ! 

Ah,  Boy!  still  speeding  o'er  the  track 

Where  none  returns  again, 
To  sigh  for  you,  or  cry  for  you, 

Or  die  for  you  were  vain. — 
And  so,  speed  on !  the  while  I  pray 

All  nipping  frosts  forsake  you — 
Ride  still  ahead  of  grief,  but  may 

All  glad  things  overtake  you ! 


BABE  HERRICK 

As  a  rosebud  might,  in  dreams, 
'Mid  some  lilies  lie,  meseems 
Thou,  pink  youngling,  on  the  breast 
Of  thy  mother  slumberest. 


120 


THE  LAND  OF  THUS-AND-SO 

"How  would  Willie  like  to  go 
To  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So? 
Everything  is  proper  there — 
All  the  children  comb  their  hair 
Smoother  than  the  fur  of  cats, 
Or  the  nap  of  high  silk  hats ; 
Every  face  is  clean  and  white 
As  a  lily  washed  in  light; 
Never  vaguest  soil  or  speck 
Found  on  forehead,  throat  or  neck; 
Every  little  crimpled  ear, 
In  and  out,  as  pure  and  clear 
As  the  cherry-blossom's  blow 
In  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So. 

"Little  boys  that  never  fall 
Down  the  stair,  or  cry  at  all — 
Doing  nothing  to  repent, 
Watchful  and  obedient; 

121 


THE    LAND    OF    THUS-AND-SO 

Never  hungry,  nor  in  haste — 
Tidy  shoe-strings  always  laced ; 
Never  button  rudely  torn 
From  its  fellows  all  unworn ; 
Knickerbockers  always  new — 
Ribbon,  tie,  and  collar,  too; 
Little  watches,  worn  like  men, 
Always  promptly  half-past  ten — 
Just  precisely  right,  you  know, 
For  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So ! 

4 'And  the  little  babies  there 
Give  no  one  the  slightest  care — 
Nurse  has  not  a  thing  to  do 
But  be  happy  and  sigh  'Boo!' 
While  Mamma  just  nods,  and  knows 
Nothing  but  to  doze  and  doze : 
Never  litter  round  the  grate ; 
Never  lunch  or  dinner  late ; 
Never  any  household  din 
Peals  without  or  rings  within — 
Baby  coos  nor  laughing  calls 
On  the  stairs  or  through  the  halls- 
Just  Great  Hushes  to  and  fro 
Pace  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So ! 

122 


THE    LAND    OF    THUS-AND-SO 

"Oh!  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So! — 
Isn't  it  delightful,  though?" 
"Yes,"  lisped  Willie,  answering  me 
Somewhat  slow  and  doubtfully — 
"Must  be  awful  nice,  but  I 
Ruther  wait  till  by  and  by 
'Fore  I  go  there — maybe  when 
I  be  dead  I'll  go  there  then. — 
But" — the  troubled  little  face 
Closer  pressed  in  my  embrace — 
"Le's  don't  never  ever  go 
To  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So!" 


123 


GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS 

"MY  grandfather  Squeers,"    said  The  Raggedy 

Man, 
As  he  solemnly  lighted  his  pipe  and  began — 

"The  most  indestructible  man,  for  his  years, 
And  the  grandest  on  earth,   was  my  grandfather 
Squeers ! 

"He  said,  when  he  rounded  his  threescore-and-ten, 
'I've  the  hang  of  it  now  and  can  do  it  again  !' 

"He  had  frozen  his  heels  so  repeatedly,  he 
Could  tell  by  them  just  what  the  weather  would  be ; 

"And  would  laugh  and  declare,  'while  the  Alma 
nac  would 
Most  falsely  prognosticate,  he  never  could ! ' 

"Such  a  hale  constitution  had  grandfather  Squeers 
That,  though  he'd  used  'navy'  for  sixty-odd  years, 

"He  still  chewed  a  dime's-worth  six  days  of  the 

week, 
While  the  seventh  he  passed  with  a  chew  in  each 

cheek. 

124 


GRANDFATHER    SQUEERS 

"Then  my  grandfather   Squeers  had  a   singular 

knack 
Of  sitting  around  on  the  small  of  his  back, 

"With  his  legs  like  a  letter  Y  stretched  o'er  the 

grate 
Wherein  'twas  his  custom  to  ex-pec-tor-ate. 

"He  was  fond  of  tobacco  in  manifold  ways, 
And  would  sit  on  the  door-step,  of  sunshiny  days, 

"And  smoke  leaf -tobacco  he'd  raised  strictly  for 
The  pipe  he'd  used  all  through  The  Mexican  War. " 

And  The  Raggedy  Man  said,  refilling  the  bowl 
Of  his  own  pipe  and  leisurely  picking  a  coal 

From  the  stove  with  his  finger  and  thumb,  "You 

can  see 
What  a  tee-nacious  habit  he's  fastened  on  me! 

And  my  grandfather  Squeers  took  a  special  de 
light 
In  pruning  his  corns  every  Saturday  night 


GRANDFATHER    SQUEERS 

With  a  horn-handled  razor,  whose  edge  he  excused 
By  saying  'twas  one  that  his  grandfather  used ; 

"And,  though  deeply  etched  in  the  haft  of  the 

same 
Was  the  ever-euphonious  Wostenholm's  name, 

"  'Twas  my  grandfather's  custom  to  boast  of  the 

blade 
As  'A  Seth  Thomas  razor — the  best  ever  made ! ' 

"No  Old  Settlers'  Meeting,  or  Pioneers'  Fair, 
Was  complete  without  grandfather  Squeers  in  the 
chair, 

"To  lead  off  the  program  by  telling  folks  how 
'He  used  to  shoot  deer  where  the  Court-House 
stands  now' — 

"How  'he  felt,  of  a  truth,  to  live  over  the  past, 
When  the  country  was  wild  and  unbroken  and 
vast, 

"  'That  the  little  log  cabin  was  just  plenty  fine 
For  himself,  his  companion,  and  fambly  of  nine ! — 

126 


GRANDFATHER    SQUKERS 

"  'When  they  didn't  have  even  a  pump,  or  a  tin, 
But  drunk  surface-water,  year  out  and  year  in, 

"  'From  the  old-fashioned  gourd  that  was  sweeter, 

by  odds, 
Than  the  goblets  of  gold  at  the  lips  of  the  gods!'  " 

Then  The  Raggedy  Man  paused  to  plaintively  say 
It  was  clockin'  along  to'rds  the  close  of  the  day — 

And  he'd  ought  to  get  back  to  his  work  on  the 

lawn, — 
Then  dreamily  blubbered  his  pipe  and  went  on : 

"His  teeth  were  imperfect — my  grandfather  owned 
That   he    couldn't   eat  oysters  unless  they  were 
'boned' ; 

"And  his  eyes  were  so  weak,  and  so  feeble  of 

sight, 
He  couldn't  sleep  with  them  unless,  every  night, 

"He  put  on  his  spectacles — all  he  possessed, — 
Three  pairs — with  his  goggles  on  top  of  the  rest. 

"And  my  grandfather  always,  retiring  at  night, 
Blew  down  the  lamp-chimney  to  put  out  the  light ; 

127 


GRANDFATHER    SQUEERS 

4 'Then  he'd  curl  up  on  edge  like  a  shaving,  in  bed, 
And  puff  and  smoke  pipes  in  his  sleep,  it  is  said: 

"And  would  snore  oftentimes,  as  the  legends  re 
late, 
Till  his  folks  were  wrought  up  to  a  terrible  state, — 

"Then  he'd  snort,  and  rear  up,  and  roll  over;  and 

there 
In  the  subsequent  hush  they  could  hear  him  chew 


air. 


"And  so  glaringly  bald  was  the  top  of  his  head 
That  many's  the  time  he  has  musingly  said, 

"As  his  eyes  journeyed  o'er  its  reflex  in  the  glass, — 
'I  must  set  out  a  few  signs  of  Keej>  Off  the  Grass  T 

"So  remarkably  deaf  was  my  grandfather  Squeers 
That  he  had  to  wear  lightning-rods  over  his  ears 

"To  even  hear  thunder — and  oftentimes  then 
He  was  forced  to  request  it  to  thunder  again." 


128 


THE    LITTLE    TINY  KICKSHAW 

O  THE  little  tiny  kickshaw  that  Mither  sent  tae  me, 
'Tis  sweeter  than  the  sugar-plum  that  reepens  on 

the  tree, 

Wi'  denty  flavorin's  o'  spice  an'  musky  rosemarie, 
The  little  tiny  kickshaw  that  Mither  sent  tae  me. 

'Tis  luscious  wi'  the  stalen  tang  o'  fruits  frae  ower 

the  sea, 
An'  e'en  its  fragrance  gars  me  laugh  wi'  langin' 

lip  an'  ee, 
Till   a'  its  frazen  sheen    o'  white  maun    melten 

hinnie  be — 
Sae  weel  I  luve  the  kickshaw  that  Mither  sent  tae 

me. 

O  I  luve  the  tiny  kickshaw,  an'  I  smack  my  lips 

wi'  glee, 

Aye  mickle  do  I  luve  the  taste  o'  sic  a  luxourie, 
But  maist  I  luve  the  luvein'   han's  that  could  the 

giftie  gie 
O'  the  little  tiny  kickshaw  that  Mither  sent  tae  me. 

9  I39 


THE   LUGUBRIOUS  WHING-WHANG 

THE  rhyme  o*  The  Raggedy  Man's  'at's  best 

Is  Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs, 
'Cause  that-un's  the  strangest  of  all  o'  the  rest, 
An'  the  worst  to  learn,  an'  the  last  one  guessed, 
An'  the  funniest  one,  an'  the  foolishest. — 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 

I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  it  means — 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! — 
An'  nen  when  I  tell  him  I  don't,  he  leans 
Like  he  was  a-grindin'  on  some  machines 
An'  says:  Ef  I  don't,  w'y,  I  don't  know  beans! 
Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 

Out  on  the  margin  of  Moonshine  Land, 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs ! 
Out  where  the  Whing- Whang  loves  to  stand, 
Writing  his  name  with  his  tail  in  the  sand, 
And  swiping  it  out  with  his  oogerish  hand ; 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 
130 


THE    LUGUBRIOUS    WHING-WHANG 

Is  it  the  gibber  of  Gungs  or  Keeks  ? 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 
Or  what  is  the   sound  that  the  Whing- Whang 

seeks  ? — 

Crouching  low  by  the  winding  creeks, 
And  holding  his  breath  for  weeks  and  weeks ! 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 

Aroint  him  the  wraithest  of  wraithly  things ! 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 
'Tis  a  fair  Whing- Whangess,  with  phosphor  rings, 
And  bridal-jewels  of  fangs  and  stings; 
And  she  sits  and  as  sadly  and  softly  sings 
As  the  mildewed  whir  of  her  own  dead  wings, — 

Tickle  me,  Dear, 
Tickle  me  here, 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  me  Lonesome  Ribs! 


THE   WAY   THE   BABY   WOKE 

AND  this  is  the  way  the  baby  woke : 

As  when  in  deepest  drops  of  dew 
The  shine  and  shadows  sink  and  soak, 

The  sweet  eyes  glimmered  through  and  through ; 
And  eddyings  and  dimples  broke 

About  the  lips,  and  no  one  knew 
Or  could  divine  the  words  they  spoke — 
And  this  is  the  way  the  baby  woke. 


132 


McFEETERS'   FOURTH 

IT  was  needless  to  say  'twas  a  glorious  day, 
And  to  boast  of  it  all  in  that  spread-eagle  way 
That  our  Forefathers  had  since  the  hour  of  the  birth 
Of  this  most  patriotic  republic  on  earth ! 
But  'twas  justice,  of  course,  to  admit  that  the  sight 
Of  the  old  Stars-and-Stripes  was  a  thing  of  delight 
In  the  eyes  of  a  fellow,  however  he  tried 
To  look  on  the  day  with  a  dignified  pride 
That  meant  not  to  brook  any  turbulent  glee 
Or  riotous  flourish  of  loud  jubilee ! 

So  argued  McFeeters,  all  grim  and  severe, 

Who  the  long  night  before,  with  a  feeling  of  fear, 

Had  slumbered  but  fitfully,  hearing  the  swish 

Of  the  sky  rocket  over  his  roof,  with  the  wish 

That  the  boy-fiend  who  fired  it  were  fast  to  the  end 

Of  the  stick  to  for  ever  and  ever  ascend ! 

Or  to  hopelessly  ask  why  the  boy  with  the  horn 

And  its  horrible  havoc  had  ever  been  born ! 

Or  to  wish,  in  his  wakefulness,  staring  aghast, 

That  this  Fourth  of  July  were  as  dead  as  the  last ! 

133 


MCFEETKRS'  FOURTH 

So,  yesterday  morning,  McFeeters  arose, 
With  a  fire  in  his  eyes,  and  a  cold  in  his  nose, 
And  a  guttural  voice  in  appropriate  key 
With  a  temper  as  gruff  as  a  temper  could  be. 
He  growled  at  the  servant  he  met  on  the  stair, 
Because  he  was  whistling  a  national  air, 
And  he  growled  at  the  maid  on  the  balcony,  who 
Stood  enrapt  with  the  tune  of  "The  Red-White- 

and-Blue" 

That  a  band  was  discoursing  like  mad  in  the  street, 
With  drumsticks  that  banged,  and  with  cymbals 

that  beat. 

And  he  growled  at  his  wife,  as  she  buttoned  his 

vest, 

And  applausively  pinned  a  rosette  on  his  breast 
Of  the  national  colors,  and  lured  from  his  purse 
Some  change  for  the  boys — for  fire-crackers — or 

worse ; 

And  she  pointed  with  pride  to  a  soldier  in  blue 
In  a  frame  on  the  wall,  and  the  colors  there,  too; 
And  he  felt,  as  he  looked  on  the  features,  the  glow 
The  painter  found  there  twenty  long  years  ago, 


'34 


MCFEETERS      FOURTH 

And  a  passionate  thrill  in  his  breast,  as  he  felt 
Instinctively  round  for  the  sword  in  his  belt. 

What  was  it  that  hung  like  a  mist  o'er  the  room  ? — 
The  tumult  without — and  the  music — the  boom 
Of  the  cannon — the  blare  of  the  bugle  and  fife  ? — 
No  matter! — McFeeters  was  kissing  his  wife, 
And  laughing  and  crying  and  waving  his  hat 
Like  a  genuine  soldier,  and  crazy,  at  that ! 
—  Was  it  needless  to  say  'twas  a  glorious  day 
And  to  boast  of  it  all  in  that  spread-eagle  way 
That  our  Forefathers  had  since  the  hour  of  the 

birth 
Of  this  most  patriotic  republic  on  earth  ? 


135 


LITTLE  MANDY'S  CHRISTMAS-TREE 

LITTLE  Mandy  and  her  Ma 
'S  porest  folks  you  ever  saw! — 
Lived  in  porest  house  in  town, 
Where  the  fence  'uz  all  tore  down. 

And  no  front-door  steps  at  all — 
1st  a'  old  box  'g'inst  the  wall; 
And  no  door-knob  on  the  door 
Outside. — My  I  but  they  'uz  pore! 

Wuz  no  winder-shutters  on, 
And  some  of  the  winders  gone, 
And  where  they  'uz  broke  they'd  pas'e 
1st  brown  paper  'crost  the  place. 

Tell  you !  when  it's  winter  there, 
And  the  snow  ist  ever'where, 
Little  Mandy' s  Ma  she  say 
'Spec'  they'll  freeze  to  death  some  day. 

Wunst  my  Ma  and  me — when  we 
Be'n  to  church,  and's  goin'  to  be 
Chris' mus  purty  soon, — we  went 
There — like  the  Committee  sent. 
136 


LITTLE  MANDY'S  CHRISTMAS-TREE 

And-sirl  when  we're  in  the  door, 
Wuz  no  carpet  on  the  floor, 
And  no  fire — and  heels-and-head 
Little  Mandy's  tucked  in  bed! 

And  her  Ma  telled  my  Ma  she 
Got  no  coffee  but  ist  tea, 
And  fried  mush — and's  all  they  had 
Sence  her  health  broke  down  so  bad, 

Nen  Ma  hug  and  hold  me  where 
Little  Mandy's  layin'  there; 
And  she  kiss  her,  too,  and  nen 
Mandy  kiss  my  Ma  again. 

And  my  Ma  she  telled  her  *we 
Coin'  to  have  a  Chris' mus-Tree, 
At  the  Sund'y  School,  'at's  fer 
ALL  the  childern,  and  fer  her. 

Little  Mandy  think — nen  she 
Say,  "What  is  a  Chris'mus-Tree?" 
Nen  my  Ma  she  gived  her  Ma 
Somepin'  'at  I  never  saw, 

137 


LITTLE    MANDY  S    CHRISTMAS-TREE 

And  say  she  must  take  it, — and 
She  ist  maked  her  keep  her  hand 
Wite  close  shut, — and  nen  she  kiss 
Her  hand — shut  ist  like  it  is. 

Nen  we  corned  away.   .   '.   .  And  nen 
When  its  Chris' mus  Eve  again, 
And  all  of  us  childerns  be 
At  the  Church  and  Chris'mus-Tree  — - 

And  all  git  our  toys  and  things 
'At  old  Santy  Claus  he  brings 
And  puts  on  the  Tree ; — wite  where 
The  big  Tree  'uz  standin'  there, 

And  the  things  'uz  all  tooked  down, 
And  the  childerns,  all  in  town, 
Got  their  presents — nen  we  see 
They's  a  little  Chris'mus-Tree 

Wite    behind  the  big  Tree — so 
We  can't  see  till  nen,  you  know, — 
And  it's  all  ist  loaded  down 
With  the  purtiest  things  in  town! 

138 


LITTLE  MANDY'S  CHRISTMAS-TREE 

And  the  teacher  smile  and  say: 
"This-here  Tree  'at's  hid  away 
It's  marked  <- Little  Mandy 's  Tree.'- 
Little  Mandy!     Where  is  she?" 

Nen  nobody  say  a  word. — 
Stillest  place  you  ever  heard! — 
Till  a  man  tiptoe  up  where 
Teacher's  still  a-waitin'  there. 

Nen  the  man  he  whispers,  so 
1st  the  Teacher  hears,  you  know. 
Nen  he  tiptoe  back  and  go 
Out  the  big  door — ist  as  slow ! 

Little  Mandy,  though,  she  don't 
Answer — and  Ma  say  "she  won't 
Never,  though  each  year  they'll  be 
'Little  Mandy's  Chris' mus-Tree' 

Fer  pore  childern" — my  Ma  says — • 
And  Committee  say  they  guess 
"Little  Mandy's  Tree"  'ull  be 
Bigger  than  the  other  Tree ! 


THE   FUNNIEST   THING  IN   THE 
WORLD 

THE  funniest  thing  in  the  world,  I  know, 
Is  watchin'  the  monkeys  'at's  in  the  show! — 
Jumpin'  an'  runnin'  an'  racin'  roun', 
'Way  up  the  top  o'  the  pole;  nen  down! 
First  they're  here,  an'  nen  they're  there, 
An'  ist  a'most  any  an'  ever' where! — 
Screechin'  an'  scratchin'  wherever  they  go, 
They're  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world,  I  know! 

They're  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world,  I  think; — 

Funny  to  watch  'em  eat  an'  drink; 

Funny  to  watch  'em  a-watchin'  us, 

An'  actin'  'most  like  grown  folks  does! — 

Funny  to  watch  'em  p'tend  to  be 

Skeerd  at  their  tail  'at  they  happen  to  see; — 

But  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world  they  do 

Is  never  to  laugh,  like  me  an'  you! 


140 


LITTLE  JOHNTS'S  CHRIS'MUS 

WE  got  it  up  a-purpose,  jes  fer  little  Johnts,  you 
know; 

His  mother  was  so  pore  an'  all,  an*  had  to  man 
age  so — 

Jes  bein'  a  War-widder,  an'  her  pension  mighty 
slim, 

She'd  take  in  weavin',  er  work  out,  er  anything 
fer  him ! 

An'  little  Johnts  was  puny-like — but  law,  the  nerve 

he  had! — 
You'd  want  to  kindo'  pity  him,  but  couldn't,  very 

bad, — 
His  pants  o'   army-blanket  an'  his  coat  o'  faded 

blue 
Kep'  hintin'  of  his  father  like,  an'  pity  wouldn't  do ! 

So  we  collogued  together,  onc't,  one  winter-time, 
'at  we — 

Jes  me  an'  mother  an'  the  girls,  an'  Wilse,  John- 
Jack  an'  Free — 

141 


LITTLE   JOHNTS' S    CHRIS*MUS 

Would  jine   an'  git  up  little  Johnts,  by  time  'at 

Chris'mus  come, 
Some  sort  o'  doin's,  don't  you  know,  'at  would 

su'prise  him  some. 

An'  so,  all  on  the  quiet,  Mother  she  turns  in  an* 

gits 
Some  blue-janes — cuts  an'  makes  a  suit ;  an'  then 

sets  down  an'  knits 

A  pair  o'  little  galluses  to  go  'long  with  the  rest — 
An'  putts  in  a  red-flannen  bacJ  ,  an'  buckle  on  the 

vest. — 

The  little  feller'd  be'n  so  much  around  our  house, 

you  see, 
An'  be'n  sich  he'p  to  her  an'  all,  an'  handy  as 

could  be, 
'At  Mother  couldn't  do  too  much  fer  little  Johnts — 

No,  Sir! 
She  ust  to  jes  declare  'at  uhe  was  meat-an'-drimV 

to  her!" 


142 


LITTLE    JOHNTS'S    CHRIS'MUS 

An'  Piney,  Lide,  an'  Madaline  they  watch  their 

chance  an'  rid 
To  Fountaintown  with  Lijey's  folks ;   an'  bought 

a  book,  they  did, 

O'  fairy  tales,  with  pictur's  in ;  an'  got  a  little  pair 
O'  red-top  boots  'at  John- Jack  said  he'd  be'n  a- 

pricin'  there. 

An'  Lide  got  him  a  little  sword,  an'  Madaline,  a 

drum  ; 
An'  shootin'-crackers — Lawzy-day!  an' they're  so 

danger-some ! 
An'  Piney,  ever'  time  the  rest  'ud  buy  some  other 

toy, 
She'd  take  an'  turn  in  then  an?  buy  more  candy 

f er  the  boy ! 

"Well,"  thinks-says-I,  when  they  got  back,  "your 

pocket-books  is  dry!" — 
But  little  Johnts  was  there  hisse'f  that  afternoon, 

so  I — 
Well,  all  of  us  kep*  mighty  mum,  tel  we  got  him 

away 
By  tellin'  him  be  shore  an'  come  to-morry — Chris'- 

mus  Day — 

H3 


LITTLE   JOHNTS'S    CHRIS  *MUS 


An'  fetch  his  mother  'long  with  him !   An*  how  he 

scud  acrost 
The  fields — his  towhead,  in  the  dusk,  jes  like  a 

streak  o'  frost! — 
His  comfert  fluttern  as  he  run — an*  old  Tige,  don't 

you  know, 
A-jumpin'  high  for  rabbits  an*  a  ploughin'  up  the 

snow! 

It  must  'a'  be'n  'most  ten  that  night  afore  we  got 
to  bed — 

With  Wilse  an'  John- Jack  he'ppin'  us ;  an'  Free 
man  in  the  shed, 

An'  Lide  out  with  the  lantern  while  he  trimmed 
the  Chris'mus  Tree 

Out  of  a  little  scrub-oak-top  'at  suited  to  a  "T"  ! 

All  night  I  dreamp'  o'  hearin'  things  a-skulkin' 
round  the  place — 

An'  "Old  Kriss,"  with  his  whiskers  off,  an'  freck 
les  on  his  face — 

An'  reindeers,  shaped  like  shavin'-hosses  at  the 
cooper-shop, 

A-stickin'  down  the  chimbly,  with  their  heels  out 

at  the  top ! 

144 


LITTLE   JOHNTS'S    CHRIS* MUS 

By  time  'at  Mother  got  me  up  'twas  plum  day 
light  an*  more — 

The  front  yard  full  o'  neighbers  all  a-crowdin' 
round  the  door, 

With  Johnts's  mother  leadin3 ;  yes — an'  little 
Johnts  hisse'f, 

Set  up  on  Freeman's  shoulder,  like  a  jug  up  on 
theshe'f! 

Of  course  I  can't  describe  it  when  they  all  got  in 
to  where 

We'd  conjered  up  the  Chris'mus-Tree  an*  all  the 
fixin's  there! — 

Fer  all  the  shouts  o'  laughture — clappin'  hands, 
an'  crackin'  jokes, 

Was  heap  o'  kissin'  goin'  on  amongst  the  women 
folks:— 

Fer,  lo-behold-ye !  there  they  had  that  young-un ! — 

An'  his  chin 
A-wobblin'-like ; — an',  shore  enough,  at  last  he 

started  in — 

An' — sich  another  bellerin',  in  all  my  mortal  days, 
I  never  heerd,  er  'spect  to  hear,  in  woe's  app'inted 

ways! 

10  145 


LITTLE  JOHNTS'S  CHRIS* MUS 

An'  Mother  grabs  him  up  an'  says:    "It's  more'n 

he  can  bear- 
It's  all  too  suddent  fer  the  child,  an'  too  su'prisin' ! 

—There!" 
"Oh,  no  it  ain't" — sobbed  little  Johnts — "I  ain't 

su'prised — but  I'm 
A-cryin'  'cause  I  watched  you  all,  an*  knowed  it 

all  the  time!" 


THE  ORCHARD  LANDS  OF  LONG  AGO 

THE  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 
O  drowsy  winds,  awake,  and  blow 
The  snowy  blossoms  back  to  me, 
And  all  the  buds  that  used  to  be ! 
Blow  back  along  the  grassy  ways 
Of  truant  feet,  and  lift  the  haze 
Of  happy  summer  from  the  trees 
That  trail  their  tresses  in  the  seas 
Of  grain  that  float  and  overflow 
The  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 

Blow  back  the  melody  that  slips 
In  lazy  laughter  from  the  lips 
That  marvel  much  if  any  kiss 
Is  sweeter  than  the  apple's  is. 
Blow  back  the  twitter  of  the  birds — 
The  lisp,  the  titter,  and  the  words 


147 


THE  ORCHARD  LANDS  OF  LONG  AGO 

Of  merriment  that  found  the  shine 
Of  summer-time  a  gloriouts_w.ine  ... 
That  drenched  the  leaves  that  loved  it  so, 
In  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 

-••*  f        .  •• . 
O  memory !  alight  'and  sing 

Where  rosy-bellied  pippins  cling, 
And  golden  russets  glTm  and  gleam, 
As,  in  the  old  Arabi&n^'dream, 
The  fruits  of  that  endhanted  tree 
The  glad  Aladdin  robbed  for  me ! 
And,  drowsy  winds,  awake  and  fan 
My  blood  as  when  it  overran 
A  heart  ripe  as  the  apples  grow 
In  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 


148 


THE   BOYS'    CANDIDATE 

LAS'  time  'at  Uncle  Sidney  come, 
He  bringed  a  watermelon  home — 

An'  half  the  boys  in  town 
Come  taggin'  after  him. — An'  he 
Says,  when  we  et  it, — "  Gracious  me! 

'S  the  boy-house  fell  down?" 


149 


THE   BUMBLEBEE 

You  better  not  fool  with  a  Bumblebee ! — 

Ef  you  don't  think  they  can  sting — you'll  see! 

They're  lazy  to  look  at,  an'  kindo'  go 

Buzzin'  an'  bummin'  aroun'  so  slow, 

An'  ac?  so  slouchy  an'  all  fagged  out, 

Danglin'  their  legs  as  they  drone  about 

The  hollyhawks  'at  they  can't  climb  in 

'Ithout  ist  a-tumble-un  out  ag'in! 

Wunst  I  watched  one  climb  clean  'way 

In  a  jimson-blossom,  I  did,  one  day, — 

An'  I  ist  grabbed  it — an'  nen  let  go — 

An'  ' '  Ooh-ooh  !  Honey  I  I  told  ye  so  !" 

Says  the  Raggedy  Man ;  an'  he  ist  run 

An*  pullt  out  the  stinger,  an'  don't  laugh  none, 

An'  says:    "TheyAa^  be'n  folks,  I  guess, 

'At  thought  I  wuz  prejudust,  more  er  less, — 

Yit  I  still  muntain  'at  a  Bumblebee 

Wears  out  his  welcome  too  quick fer  me!" 


'5° 


HE   CALLED   HER  IN 

I 

HE  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door. 

And  she  so  loved  the  sunshine  and  the  sky ! — 

She  loved  them  even  better  yet  than  I 

That  ne'er  knew  dearth  of  them — my  mother  dead, 

Nature  had  nursed  me  in  her  lap  instead : 

And  I  had  grown  a  dark  and  eerie  child 

That  rarely  smiled, 

Save  when,  shut  all  alone  in  grasses  high, 

Looking  straight  up  in  God's  great  lonesome  sky 

And  coaxing  Mother  to  smile  back  on  me. 

Twas  lying  thus,  this  fair  girl  suddenly 

Came  on  me,  nestled  in  the  fields  beside 

A  pleasant-seeming  home,  with  doorway  wide — 

The  sunshine  beating  in  upon  the  floor 

Like  golden  rain. — 

O  sweet,  sweet  face  above  me,  turn  again 

And  leave  me!   I  had  cried,  but  that  an  ache 

Within  my  throat  so  gripped  it  I  could  make 

'51 


HE    CALLED    HER    IN 

No  sound  but  a  thick  sobbing.     Cowering  so, 

I  felt  her  light  hand  laid 

Upon  my  hair — a  touch  that  ne'er  before 

Had  tamed  me  thus,  all  soothed  and  unafraid — 

It  seemed  the  touch  the  children  used  to  know 

When  Christ  was  here,  so  dear  it  was — so  dear, — 

At  once  I  loved  her  as  the  leaves  love  dew 

In  midmost  summer  when  the  days  are  new. 

Barely  an  hour  I  knew  her,  yet  a  curl 

Of  silken  sunshine  did  she  clip  for  me 

Out  of  the  bright  May-morning  of  her  hair, 

And  bound  and  gave  it  to  me  laughingly, 

And  caught  my  hands  and  called  me  ' ;< Little  girl '," 

Tiptoeing,  as  she  spoke,  to  kiss  me  there ! 

And  I  stood  dazed  and  dumb  for  very  stress 

Of  my  great  happiness. 

She  plucked  me  by  the  gown,  nor  saw  how  mean 

The  raiment — drew  me  with  her  everywhere : 

Smothered  her  face  in  tufts  of  grasses  green : 

Put  up  her  dainty  hands  and  peeped  between 

Her  ringers  at  the  blossoms — crooned  and  talked 

To  them  in  strange,  glad  whispers,  as  we  walked, — 

Said  this  one  was  her  angel  mother — 

Her  baby-sister — come  back,  for  a  kiss, 


HE    CALLED    HER   IN 

Clean  from  the  Good- World! — smiled  and  kissed 

them,  then 

Closed  her  soft  eyes  and  kissed  them  o'er  again. 
And  so  did  she  beguile  me — so  we  played, — 
She  was  the  dazzling  Shine — I,  the  dark  Shade — 
And  we  did  mingle  like  to  these,  and  thus, 
Together,  made 

The  perfect  summer,  pure  and  glorious. 
So  blent  we,  till  a  harsh  voice  broke  upon 
Our  happiness. — She,  startled  as  a  fawn, 
Cried,  "Oh,  'tis  Father!  " — all  the  blossoms  gone 
From  out  her  cheeks  as  those  from  out  her  grasp. — 
Harsher  the  voice  came : — She  could  only  gasp 
Affrightedly,   "Good-bye! — good-bye!    good 
bye!" 

And  lo,  I  stood  alone,  with  that  harsh  cry 
Ringing  a  new  and  unknown  sense  of  shame 
Through  soul  and  frame, 

And,  with  wet  eyes,  repeating  o'er  and  o'er, — 
"He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door!" 


'53 


HE    CALLED   HER   IN 
II 

He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door ! 

And  I  went  wandering  alone  again — 

So  lonely — O  so  very  lonely  then, 

I  thought  no  little  sallow  star,  alone 

In  all  a  world  of  twilight,  e'er  had  known 

Such  utter  loneliness.     But  that  I  wore 

Above  my  heart  that  gleaming  tress  of  hair 

To  lighten  up  the  night  of  my  despair, 

I  think  I  might  have  groped  into  my  grave 

Nor  cared  to  wave 

The  ferns  above  it  with  a  breath  of  prayer. 

And  how  I  hungered  for  the  sweet,  sweet  face 

That  bent  above  me  in  my  hiding-place 

That  day  amid  the  grasses  there  beside 

Her  pleasant  home! — "tter pleasant  home!''  I 

sighed, 

Remembering; — then  shut  my  teeth  and  feigned 
The  harsh  voice   calling   me, — then  clinched  my 

nails 

So  deeply  in  my  palms,  the  sharp  wounds  pained, 
And  tossed  my  face  toward  heaven,  as  one  who 

pales 

«54 


V-        OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


HE    CALLED    HER   IN 

In  splendid  martyrdom,  with  soul  serene, 

As  near  to  God  as  high  the  guillotine. 

And  I  had  envied  her?     Not  that  —  O  no! 

But  I  had  longed  for  some  sweet  haven  so!  — 

Wherein  the  tempest-beaten  heart  might  ride 

Sometimes  at  peaceful  anchor,  and  abide 

Where  those  that  loved  me  touched  me  with  their 

hands, 

And  looked  upon  me  with  glad  eyes,  and  slipped 
Smooth  fingers  o'er  my  brow,  and  lulled  the  strands 
Of  my  wild  tresses,  as  they  backward  tipped 
My  yearning  face  and  kissed  it  satisfied. 
Then  bitterly  I  murmured  as  before,  — 
"He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door!" 

Ill 

He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door! 
After  long  struggling  with  my  pride  and  pain— 
A  weary  while  it  seemed,  in  which  the  more 
I  held  myself  from  her,  the  greater  fain 
Was  I  to  look  upon  her  face  again;  — 
At  last  —  at  last  —  half  conscious  where  my  feet 
Were  faring,  I  stood  waist-deep  in  the  sweet 
Green  grasses  there  where  she 
First  came  to  me.  — 

'55 


HE    CALLED    HER   IN 

The  very  blossoms  she  had  plucked  that  day, 

And,  at  her  father's  voice,  had  cast  away, 

Around  me  lay, 

Still  bright  and  blooming  in  these  eyes  of  mine ; 

And  as  I  gathered  each  one  eagerly, 

I  pressed  it  to  my  lips  and  drank  the  wine 

Her  kisses  left  there  for  the  honey-bee. 

Then,  after  I  had  laid  them  with  the  tress 

Of  her  bright  hair  with  lingering  tenderness, 

I,  turning,  crept  on  to  the  hedge  that  bound 

Her  pleasant-seeming  home — but  all  around 

Was  never  sign  of  her! — The  windows  all 

Were  blinded  ;  and  I  heard  no  rippling  fall 

Of  her  glad  laugh,  nor  any  harsh  voice  call ; — 

But,  clutching  to  the  tangled  grasses,  caught 

A  sound  as  though  a  strong  man  bowed  his  head 

And  sobbed  alone — unloved — uncomforted ! — 

And  then  straightway  before 

My  tearless  eyes,  all  vividly,  was  wrought 

A  vision  that  is  with  me  evermore: — 

A  little  girl  that  lies  asleep,  nor  hears 

Nor  heeds  not  any  voice  nor  fall  of  tears. — - 

And  I  sit  singing  o'er  and  o'er  and  o'er, — 

"God  called  her  in  from  him  and  shut  the  door!" 

156 


THE   BOY-FRIEND 

CLARENCE,  my  boy-friend,  hale  and  strong! 

O  he  is  as  jolly  as  he  is  young; 
And  all  of  the  laughs  of  the  lyre  belong 

To  the  boy  all  unsung : 

So  I  want  to  sing  something  in  his  behalf — 
To  clang  some  chords,  for  the  good  it  is 

To  know  he  is  near,  and  to  have  the  laugh 
Of  that  wholesome  voice  of  his. 

I  want  to  tell  him  in  gentler  ways 

Than  prose  may  do,  that  the  arms  of  rhyme, 
Warm  and  tender  with  tuneful  praise, 

Are  about  him  all  the  time. 

I  want  him  to  know  that  the  quietest  nights 
We  have  passed  together  are  yet  with  me, 

Roistering  over  the  old  delights 
That  were  born  of  his  company. 

'57 


THE    BOY-FRIEND 

I  want  him  to  know  how  my  soul  esteems 

The  fairy  stories  of  Andersen, 
And  the  glad  translations  of  all  the  themes 

Of  the  hearts  of  boyish  men. 

Want  him  to  know  that  my  fancy  flows, 
With  the  lilt  of  a  dear  old-fashioned  tune, 

Through  "Lewis  Carroll's"  poemly  prose, 
And  the  tale  of  "The  Bold  Dragoon." 

O  this  is  the  Prince  that  I  would  sing — 
Would  drape  and  garnish  in  velvet  line, 

Since  courtlier  far  than  any  king 
Is  this  brave  boy-friend  of  mine. 


'58 


WHEN  THE  WORLD  BU'STS  THROUGH 

[  Casually  Suggested  by  an  Earthquake} 

WHERE'S  a  boy  a-goin', 

An'  what's  he  goin'  to  do, 
An'  how's  he  goin'  to  do  it, 

When  the  world  bu'sts  through? 
Ma  she  says  "she  can't  tell 

What  we're  comin'  to!" 
An'  Pop  says  "he's  ist  skeered 

Clean — plum — through ! ' ' 

S'pose  we'd  be  a-playin' 

Out  in  the  street, 
An'  the  ground  'ud  split  up 

'Bout  forty  feet! — 
Ma  says  "she  ist  knows 

We  'ud  tumble  in"; 
An'  Pop  says  "he  bets  you 

Nen  we  wouldn't  grin!" 

S'pose  we'd  ist  be  'tendin* 

Like  we  had  a  show, 
Down  in  the  stable 

Where  we  mustn'  go,—- 
159 


WHEN    THE    WORLD    BU'STS    THROUGH 

Ma  says,  "The  earthquake 

Might  make  it  fall"; 
An'  Pop  says,  "More'n  like 

S waller  barn  an'  all!" 

Landy !  ef  we  both  wuz 

Runnin'  'way  from  school, 
Out  in  the  shady  woods 

Where  it's  all  so  cool! — 
Ma  says  "a  big  tree 

Might  sqush  our  head"; 
An'  Pop  says,  "Chop  'em  out 

Both— killed— dead!" 

But  where's  a  boy  goin', 

An*  what's  he  goin'  to  do, 
An*  how's  he  goin'  to  do  it, 

Ef  the  world  bu'sts  through? 
Ma  she  says  "she  can't  tell 

What  we're  comin'  to!" 
An*  Pop  says  "he's  ist  skeered 

Clean — plum — through ! " 


160 


A  PROSPECTIVE  GLIMPSE 

JANEY  PETTIBONE 's  the  best 
Little  girl  an'  purtiest 
In  this  town !  an*  lives  next  door, 
Up-stairs  over  their  old  store. 

Little  Janey  Pettibone 
An'  her  Ma  lives  all  alone, — 
'Cause  her  Pa  broke  up,  an'  nen 
Died  'cause  they  ain't  rich  again. 

Little  Janey 's  Ma  she  sews 
Fer  my  Ma  sometimes,  an'  goes 
An'  gives  music-lessuns — where 
People's  got  pianers  there. 

But  when  Janey  Pettibone 

Grows  an'  grows,  like  I'm  a  growin', 

Nen  I'm  go'  to  keep  a  store, 

An'  sell  things — an'  sell  some  more — 

Till  I'm  ist  as  rich! — An'  nen 
Her  Ma  can  be  rich  again, — 
Ef  I'm  rich  enough  to  own 
Little  Janey  Pettibone ! 
II  161 


THE   OLD  TRAMP 

AJ  OLD  Tramp  slep'  in  our  stable  wunst, 
An'  The  Raggedy  Man  he  caught 

An'  roust  him  up,  an'  chased  him  off 
Clean  out  through  our  back  lot ! 

An'  th'  old  Tramp  hollered  back  an'  said,- 
"You're  a  purty  man! — You  air! — 

With  a  pair  o'  eyes  like  two  fried  eggs, 
An'  a  nose  like  a  Bartlutt  pear!" 


162 


CURLY  LOCKS 

Curly  Locks!  Curly  Locks!  wilt  thou  be  mine? 
Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the 

swine, — 

But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam, 
And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream. 

Curly  Locks !  Curly  Locks !  wilt  thou  be  mine  ? 
The  throb  of  my  heart  is  in  every  line, 
And  the  pulse  of  a  passion  as  airy  and  glad 
In  its  musical  beat  as  the  little  Prince  had ! 

Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the 

swine ! — 

O  I'll  dapple  thy  hands  with  these  kisses  of  mine 
Till  the  pink  of  the  nail  of  each  finger  shall  be 
As  a  little  pet  blush  in  full  blossom  for  me. 

But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam, 
And  thou  shalt  have  fabric  as  fair  as  a  dream, — 
The  red  of  my  veins,  and  the  white  of  my  love, 
And  the  gold  of  my  joy  for  the  braiding  thereof. 

163 


CURLY   LOCKS 

And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream 
From  a  service  of  silver,  with  jewels  agleam, — 
At  thy  feet  will  I  bide,  at  thy  beck  will  I  rise, 
And  twinkle  my  soul  in  the  night  of  thine  eyes ! 

Curly  Locks!  Curly  Locks!  wilt  thou  be  mine? 
Thou  shall  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the 

swine, — 

But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  Jine  seam, 
And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream. 


THE  PET  COON 

NOEY  BIXLER  ketched  him,  an'  fetched  him  in  to 

me 

When  he's  ist  a  little  teenty-weenty  baby-coon 
'Bout  as  big  as  little  pups,  an'  tied  him  to  a  tree ; 
An'  Pa  gived  Noey  fifty  cents,  when  he  come 

home  at  noon. 

Nen  he  buyed  a  chain  fer  him,  an'  little  collar,  too, 
An'  sawed  a  hole  in  a'  old  tub  an'  turnt  it  upside 

down; 
An'  little  feller' d  stay  in  there  and  won't  come  out 

fer  you — 

'Tendin'  like  he's  kindo'  skeered  o'  boys  'at 
lives  in  town. 

Now  he  ain't  afeard  a  bit!  he's  ist  so  fat  an'  tame, 
We  on'y  chain  him  up  at  night,  to  save  the  little 

chicks. 
Holler  "Greedy!  Greedy!"  to  him,  an'  he  knows 

his  name, 

An'  here  he'll  come  a-waddle-un,  up  fer  any 
tricks  I 


THE    PET   COON 

He'll  climb  up  my  leg,  he  will,  an*  waller  in  my 

lap, 

An'  poke  his  little  black  paws  'way  in  my  pock 
ets  where 

They's  beechnuts,  er  chinkypins,  er  any  little  scrap 
Of  anything  'at's  good  to  eat — an'  he  don't  care ! 

An'  he's  as  spunky  as  you  please,  an'  don't  like 

dogs  at  all. — 

Billy  Miller's  black-an'-tan  tackled  him  one  day, 
An'  "Greedy"  he  ist  kindo'  doubled  all  up  like  a 

ball, 
An'  Billy's  dog  he  gived  a  yelp  er  two  an'  runned 

away! 
An'  nen  when  Billy  fighted  me,  an'  hit  me  with  a 

bone, 
An'  Ma  she  purt'  nigh  ketched  him  as  he  dodged 

an'  scooted  through 
The  fence,  she  says,  "You  better  let  my  little  boy 

alone, 

Or  'Greedy,'  next  he  whips  yer  dog,  shall  whip 
you,  too!" 


1 66 


A  NONSENSE  RHYME 

RlNGLETY-JING ! 

And  what  will  we  sing? 
Some  little  crinkety-crankety  thing 

That  rhymes  and  chimes, 

And  skips,  sometimes, 
As  though  wound  up  with  a  kink  in  the  spring. 

Grunkety-krung ! 
And  chunkety-plung ! 
Sing  the  song  that  the  bullfrog  sung, — 
A  song  of  the  soul 
Of  a  mad  tadpole 
That  met  his  fate  in  a  leaky  bowl : 
And  it's  O  for  the  first  false  wiggle  he  made 
In  a  sea  of  pale  pink  lemonade ! 
And  it's  O  for  the  thirst 

Within  him  pent, 
And  the  hopes  that  burst 

As  his  reason  went — 

When  his  strong  arm  failed  and  his  strength  was 
spent ! 

167 


A    NONSENSE    RHYME 

Sing,  O  sing 
Of  the  things  that  cling, 

And  the  claws  that  clutch  and  the  fangs  that  sting — 
Till  the  tadpole's  tongue 
And  his  tail  upflung 
Quavered  and  failed  with  a  song  unsung ! 

O  the  dank  despair  in  the  rank  morass, 
Where  the  crawfish  crouch  in  the  cringing 

grass, 

And  the  long  limp  rune  of  the  loon  wails  on 
For  the  mad,  sad  soul 
Of  a  bad  tadpole 

Forever  lost  and  gone ! 

Jinglety-jee ! 
And  now  we'll  see 
What  the  last  of  the  lay  shall  be, 

As  the  dismal  tip  of  the  tune,  O  friends, 
Swoons  away  and  the  long  tale  ends. 
And  it's  O  and  alack! 

For  the  tangled  legs 
And  the  spangled  back 

Of  the  green  grig's  eggs, 


1 68 


A    NONSENSE    RHYME 

And  the  unstrung  strain 
Of  the  strange  refrain 
That  the  winds  wind  up  like  a  strand  of  rain ! 

And  it's  O, 

Also, 

For  the  ears  wreathed  low, 
Like  a  laurel- wreath  on  the  lifted  brow 
Of  the  frog  that  chants  of  the  why  and  how, 

And  the  wherefore  too,  and  the  thus  and  so 
Of  the  wail  he  weaves  in  a  woof  of  woe ! 
Twangle,  then,  with  your  wrangling  strings, 
The  tinkling  links  of  a  thousand  things ! 
And  clang  the  pang  of  a  maddening  moan 
Till  the  Echo,  hid  in  a  land  unknown, 

Shall  leap  as  he  hears,  and  hoot  and  hoo 
Like  the  wretched  wraith  of  a  Whoopty-Doo ! 


169 


NAUGHTY  CLAUDE 

WHEN  Little  Claude  was  naughty  wunst 

At  dinner-time,  an'  said 
He  won't  say  "Thank you"  to  his  Ma, 

She  maked  him  go  to  bed 
An'  stay  two  hours  an'  not  git  up, — 

So  when  the  clock  struck  Two, 
Nen  Claude  says, — "Thank  you,  Mr.  Clock, 

I'm  much  obleeged  to  you!" 


170 


THE  OLD,  OLD  WISH 

LAST  night,  in  some  lost  mood  of  meditation, 
The  while  my  dreamy  vision  ranged  the  far 
Unfathomable  arches  of  creation, 

I  saw  a  falling  star: 

And  as  my  eyes  swept  round  the  path  it  embered 

With  the  swift-dying  glory  of  its  glow, 
With  sudden  intuition  I  remembered, 
A  wish  of  long  ago— 

A  wish  that,  were  it  made — so  ran  the  fancy 

Of  credulous  young  lover  and  of  lass — 
As  fell  a  star,  by  some  strange  necromancy, 
Would  surely  come  to  pass. 

And,  of  itself,  the  wish,  reiterated 

A  thousand  times   in   youth,  flashed  o'er  my 

brain, 
And,  like  the  star,  as  soon  obliterated, 

Dropped  into  night  again. 
171 


THE    OLD,    OLD    WISH 

For  my  old  heart  had  wished  for  the  unending 

Devotion  of  a  little  maid  of  nine — 
And  that  the  girl-heart,  with  the  woman's  blend 
ing, 

Might  be  forever  mine. 

And  so  it  was,  with  eyelids  raised,  and  weighty 

With  ripest  clusterings  of  sorrow's  dew, 
I  cried  aloud  through  heaven:    "O  little  Katie! 

When  will  my  wish  come  true?" 


172 


I/' 


44  THE   PREACHER'S   BOY' 

I  RICKOLLECT  the  little  tad,  back,  years  and  years 

ago— 
"The   Preacher's  Boy"  that  every  one  despised 

and  hated  so ! 
A   meek-faced  little  feller,   with  white  eyes  and 

foxy  hair, 

And  a  look  like  he  expected  ser'ous  trouble  every 
where  : 

A  sort  o'  fixed  expression  of  suspicion  in  his  glance ; 
His  bare-feet  always  scratched  with  briers ;   and 

green  stains  on  his  pants ; 
Molasses-marks    along   his    sleeves;    his    cap-rim 

turned  behind — 
And  so  it  is   "The  Preacher's  Boy"  is  brought 

again  to  mind ! 

My  fancy  even  brings  the   sly  marauder  back   so 

plain, 
I  see  him  jump  our  garden-fence  and  slip  off  down 

the  lane ; 

173 


4 'THE  PREACHER'S  BOY" 

And  I  seem  to  holler  at  him  and  git  back  the  old 

reply: 
"Oh,  no:   your  peaches  is  too  green  fer  such  a 

worm  as  I!" 
Fer  he  scorned  his  father's   phrases — every  holy 

one  he  had — 
"As  good  a  man,"  folks  put  it,  "as  that  boy  of 

his  was  bad!" 
And  again  from  their  old  buggy-shed,  I  hear  the 

"rod  unspared" — 
Of  course  that  never  "spoiled  the  child"  for  which 

nobody  cared ! 

If  any  neighber  ever  found  his  gate  without  a  latch, 
Or  rines  around  the  edges  of  his  watermelon-patch  ; 
His  pasture-bars  left  open;  or  his  pump-spout 

chocked  with  clay, 
He'd  swear  'twas  "that  infernal  Preacher's  Boy," 

right  away! 
When  strings  was  stretched   acrost    the    street  at 

night,  and  some  one  got 
An  everlastin'  tumble,  and  his  nose  broke,  like  as 

not, 


174 


"THE  PREACHER'S 


And  laid  it  on  "The  Preacher's  Boy"  —  no  powers, 

low  ner  high, 
Could  ever  quite  substantiate  that  boy's  alibi  ! 

And  did  nobody  like  the  boy?  —  Well,  all  the  fets 

in  town 
Would  eat  out  of  his  fingers  ;  and  canaries  would 

come  down 
And  leave  their  swingin'  perches  and  their  fish 

bone  jist  to  pick 
The  little  warty  knuckles  that  the  dogs  would  leap 

to  lick.  — 
No  little  snarlin',  snappin*    fiste  but  what  would 

leave  his  bone 

To  foller,  ef  he  whistled,  in  that  tantalizin'  tone 
That  made  the  goods-box  whittlerblasphemeously 

protest 
"He  couldn't  tell,  'twixt  dog  and  boy,  which  one 

was  ornriest!" 

'Twas  such  a  little  cur  as  this,  onc't,  when  the 

crowd  was  thick 
Along  the  streets,  a  drunken  corner-loafer  tried  to 

kick, 

'75 


u  THE  PREACHER'S  BOY" 

When  a  sudden  foot  behind  him  tripped  him  up, 

and  falling  so 
He   "marked    his   man,"   and  jerked   his  gun — 

drawed  up  and  let  'er  go ! 

And  the  crowd  swarmed  round  the  victim—hold 
ing  close  against  his  breast 
The  little  dog  unharmed,  in  arms  that  still,  as  they 

caressed, 
Grew  rigid  in  their  last  embrace,  as  with  a  smile 

of  joy 
He  recognized  the  dog  was  saved.     So  died  "The 

Preacher's  Boy"! 
When  it  appeared,  before  the  Squire,  that  fatal 

pistol-ball 
Was  fired  at  "a  dangerous  beast,"  and  not  the  boy 

at  all, 
And  the  facts  set  forth  established — it  was  like-be- 

fittin'  then 

To  order  out  a  possy  of- the  "city  councilmen" 
To  kill  the  dog  I    But,  strange  to  tell,  they  searched 

the  country  round, 
And  never  hide-ner-hair  of  that  "said"  dog  was 

ever  found ! 


176 


And,  somehow,  then  I  sorto'  thought — and  half 
way  think,  to-day — 

The  spirit  of  "The  Preacher's  Boy"  had  whistled 
him  away. 


177 


AN  IMPETUOUS   RESOLVE 

WHEN  little  Dickie  Swope's  a  man, 

He's  go'  to  be  a  Sailor; 
An'  little  Hamey  Tincher,  he's 

A-go'  to  be  a  Tailor: 
Bud  Mitchell,  he's  a-go'  to  be 

A  stylish  Carriage-Maker; 
An'  when  /grow  a  grea'-big  man, 

I'm  go'  to  be  a  Baker! 

An'  Dick'll  buy  his  sailor-suit 

O'  Hame;  an'  Hame'll  take  it 
An'  buy  as  fine  a  double-rig 

As  ever  Bud  kin  make  it: 
An'  nen  all  three' 11  drive  roun'  fer  me, 

An'  we'll  drive  off  togevver, 
A-slingin'  pie-crust  'long  the  road 

Ferever  an'  ferever! 


178 


A  SUDDEN  SHOWER 

BAREFOOTED  boys  scud  up  the  street 
Or  scurry  under  sheltering  sheds  ; 
And  school-girl  faces,  pale  and  sweet, 

Gleam  from  the  shawls  about  their  heads. 

Doors  bang;  and  mother-voices  call 
From  alien  homes  ;  and  rusty  gates 

Are  slammed;  and  high  above  it  all, 
The  thunder  grim  reverberates. 

And  then,  abrupt, — the  rain!  the  rain! — 
The  earth  lies  gasping ;  and  the  eyes 

Behind  the  streaming  window-pane 
Smile  at  the  trouble  of  the  skies. 

The  highway  smokes;  sharp  echoes  ring; 

The  cattle  bawl  and  cow-bells  clank; 
And  into  town  comes  galloping 

The  farmer's  horse,  with  steaming  flank. 
179 


A    SUDDEN    SHOWER 

The  swallow  dips  beneath  the  eaves 

And  flirts  his  plumes  and  folds  his  wings ; 

And  under  the  Catawba  leaves 
The  caterpillar  curls  and  clings. 

The  bumblebee  is  pelted  down 

The  wet  stem  of  the  hollyhock ; 
And  sullenly,  in  spattered  brown, 

The  cricket  leaps  the  garden-walk. 

Within,  the  baby  claps  his  hands 

And  crows  with  rapture  strange  and  vague ; 
Without,  beneath  the  rose-bush  stands 

A  dripping  rooster  on  one  leg. 


180 


THE  HUNTER  BOY 

HUNTER  BOY  of  Hazelwood — 
Happier  than  Robin  Hood ! 
Dance  across    the  green,  and  stand 
Suddenly,  with  lifted  hand 
Shading  eager  eyes,  and  be 
Thus  content  to  capture  me! — 
Cease  thy  quest  for  wilder  prey 
Than  my  willing  heart  to-day ! 

Hunter  Boy!   with  belt  and  bow, 
Bide  with  me,  or  let  me  go, 
An  thou  wilt,  in  wake  of  thee, 
Questing  for  my  mine  infancy ! 
With  thy  glad  face  in  the  sun, 
Let  thy  laughter  overrun 
Thy  ripe  lips,  until  mine  own 
Answer,  ringing,  tone  for  tone ! 

181 


THE    HUNTER    BOY 

O  my  Hunter !  tilt  the  cup 
Of  thy  silver  bugle  up, 
And  like  wine  pour  out  for  me 
All  its  limpid  melody! 
Pout  thy  happy  lips  and  blare 
Music's  kisses  everywhere — 
Whiff  o'er  forest,  field  and  town, 
Tufts  of  tune  like  thistle-down ! 
O  to  go,  as  once  I  could, 
Hunter  Boy  of  Hazelwood ! 


182 


A  CHILD'S  HOME — LONG  AGO 

The  happy  mother,  humming,  with  her  wheel, 
The  dear  old  melodies  that  used  to  steal 
So  drowsily  upon  the  summer  air, 
The  house-dog  hid  his  bone,  forgot  his  care, 
And  nestled  at  her  feet,  to  dream,  perchance, 
Some  cooling  dream  of  winter-time  romance : 
The  square  of  sunshine  through  the  open  door 
That  notched  its  edge  across  the  puncheon  floor, 
And  made  a  golden  coverlet  whereon 
The  god  of  slumber  had  a  picture  drawn 
Of  Babyhood,  in  all  the  loveliness 
Of  dimpled  cheek  and  limb  and  linsey  dress : 
The  bough-filled  fireplace,  and   the   mantel  wide, 
Its  fire-scorched  ankles  stretched  on  either  side, 
Where,  perched  upon  its  shoulders  'neath  the  joist, 
The  old  clock  hiccoughed,  harsh  and  husky-voiced, 
And  snarled  the  premonition,  dire  and  dread, 
When  it  should  hammer  Time  upon  the  head: 
Tomatoes,  red  and  yellow,  in  a  row, 
Preserved  not  then  for  diet,  but  for  show, — 
Like  rare  and  precious  jewels  in  the  rough 
Whose  worth  was  not  appraised  at  half  enough: 
The  jars  of  jelly,  with  their  dusty  tops ; 
The  bunch  of  pennyroyal ;  the  cordial  drops ; 

187 


A  CHILD'S  HOME — LONG  AGO 

The  flask  of  camphor,  and  the  vial  of  squills, 
The  box  of  buttons,  garden-seeds,  and  pills ; 
And,  ending  all  the  mantel's  bric-a-brac, 
The  old,  time-honored  "Family  Almanack." 
And  memory,  with  a  mother's  touch  of  love, 
Climbs  with  us  to  the  dusky  loft  above, 
Where  drowsily  we  trail  our  ringers  in 
The  mealy  treasures  of  the  harvest  bin ; 
And,  feeling  with  our  hands  the  open  track, 
We  pat  the  bag  of  barley  on  the  back ; 
And,  groping  onward  through  the  mellow  gloom, 
We  catch  the  hidden  apple's  faint  perfume, 
And,  mingling  with  it,  fragrant  hints  of  pear 
And  musky  melon  ripening  somewhere. 
Again  we  stretch  our  limbs  upon  the  bed 
Where  first  our  simple  childish  prayers  were  said ; 
And  while,  without,  the  gallant  cricket  trills 
A  challenge  to  the  solemn  whippoorwills, 
And,  filing  on  the  chorus  with  his  glee, 
The  katydid  whets  all  the  harmony 
To  feather-edge  of  incoherent  song, 
We  drop  asleep,  and  peacefully  along 
The  current  of  our  dreams  we  glide  away 
To  the  dim  harbor  of  another  day. 
1 88 


BILLY  GOODIN' 

"  A  big  piece  o'  pie,  and  a  big  piece  o'  puddin*— 
I  laid  it  all  by  fer  little  Billy  Goodirf  !" 

BOY-POET. 

LOOK  so  neat  an*  sweet  in  all  yer  frills  an'  fancy 

pleatin' ! 
Better  shet  yer  kitchen,  though,  afore  you  go  to 

Meetin' ! — 
Better  hide  yer  mince-meat  an'  stewed  fruit  an' 

plums ! 
Better  hide  yer  pound-cake  an*  bresh  away  the 

crumbs ! 

Better  hide  yer  cubbord-key  when  Billy  Goodin' 
comes, 

A-eatin'!  an*  a-eatin'J  an'  a-eatin'! 


Sight  o'   Sund'y-doin's  done  'at  ain't  done  in 

Meetin' ! 

Sun  acrostyer  garden-patch  a-pourin'  an'  a-beatin' ; 
Meller  apples  drappin'  in  the  weeds  an*  roun' 

the  groun' — 
Clingstones    an*    sugar-pears    a-ist    a-plunkin' 

down! — 

Better  kindo'  comb  the  grass  'fore  Billy  comes 
aroun', 

A-eatin' !  an*  a-eatin'  I   an*  a-eatin' ! 

Billy  Goodin'  ain't  a-go'  to  go  to  any  Meetin' ! 
We  'ull  watch  an'  ketch  an'  give  the  little  sneak  a 

beatin' ! — 
Better  hint  we  want'o  stay  *n'  snoop  yer  grapes 

an'  plums! 
Better  eat  'em  all  yerse'f  an*  suck  yer  stingy 

thumbs! — 

Won't  be  nothin*  anyhow  when  Billy  Goodin' 
comes ! 

A-eatinM  an*  a-eatinM  an'  a-eatin'I 


190 


A  PASSING  HAIL 

LET  us  rest  ourselves  a  bit ! 
Worry? — wave  your  hand  to  it — 
Kiss  your  finger  tips,  and  smile 
It  farewell  a  little  while. 

Weary  of  the  weary  way 
We  have  come  from  Yesterday, 
Let  us  fret  us  not,  instead, 
Of  the  weary  way  ahead. 

Let  us  pause  and  catch  our  breath 
On  the  hither  side  of  death, 
While  we  see  the  tender  shoots 
Of  the  grasses — not  the  roots, — 

While  we  yet  look  down — not  up— 
To  seek  out  the  buttercup 
And  the  daisy  where  they  wave 
O'er  the  green  home  of  the  grave. 
191 


A    PASSING    HAIL 

Let  us  launch  us  smoothly  on 
The  soft  billows  of  the  lawn, 
And  drift  out  across  the  main 
Of  our  childish  dreams  again: 

Voyage  off,  beneath  the  trees, 
O'er  the  field's  enchanted  seas, 
Where  the  lilies  are  our  sails, 
And  our  sea-gulls,  nightingales: 

Where  no  wilder  storm  shall  beat 
Than  the  wind  that  waves  the  wheat, 
And  no  tempest-burst  above 
The  old  laughs  we  used  to  love: 

Lose  all  troubles — gain  release, 
Languor,  and  exceeding  peace, 
Cruising  idly  o'er  the  vast, 
Calm  mid-ocean  of  the  Past. 

Let  us  rest  ourselves  a  bit ! 
Worry  ? — Wave  your  hand  to  it- 
Kiss  your  finger-tips,  and  smile 
It  farewell  a  little  while. 

193 


PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLE'S  APPEAR- 


WHAT  makes  you  come  here  fer,  Mister, 

So  much  to  our  house  ? — Say? 
Come  to  see  our  big  sister! — 
An'  Charley  he  says  'at  you  kissed  her 

An'  he  ketched  you,  th'uther  day! — 
Didn'  you,  Charley? — But  we  p'omised  Belle 

An'  crossed  our  heart  to  never  tell — 
'Cause  she  gived  us  some  o'  them-er 
Chawk'lut-drops  'at  you  bringed  to  her! 

Charley  he's  my  little  b'uther — 

An'  we  has  a-mostest  fun, 
Don't  we,  Charley?— Our  Muther, 
Whenever  we  whips  one-anuther, 

Tries  to  whip  us — an'  we  run — 
Don't  we,  Charley? — An'  nen,  bime-by? 
Nen  she  gives  us  cake — an'  pie — 
Don't  she,  Charley? — when  we  come  in 
An'  p'omise  never  to  do  it  ag'in! 

'3  193 


PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLE'S  APPEARANCE 

He's  named  Charley.— I'm  Willie— 

An'  I'm  got  the  purtiest  name ! 
But  Uncle  Bob  he  calls  me  "Billy" — 
Don't  he,  Charley  ?— 'N'  our  filly 

We  named  "Billy,"  the  same 
1st  like  me !     An*  our  Ma  said 
'At  "Bob  puts  foolishnuss  into  our  head!"-— 
Didn'  she,  Charley? — An'  she  don't  know 
Much  about  boys!     'Cause  Bob  said  so! 

Baby's  a  funniest  feller! 

Nain't  no  hair  on  his  head — 
Is  they,  Charley? — It's  meller 
Wite  up  there !  An'  ef  Belle  er 

Us  ask  wus  we  that  way,  Ma  said, — 
"Yes ;  an'  yer  Pa's  head  wuz  soft  as  that, 
An'  it's  that  way  yet!" — An'  Pa  grabs  his  hat 
An'  says,  "Yes,  childern,  she's  right  about  Pa- 
'Cause  that's  the  reason  he  married  yer  Ma!" 

An'  our  Ma  says  'at  "Belle  couldn' 

Ketch  nothin'  at  all  but  ist  'bows'  /" — 
An'  Pa  says  'at  "you're  soft  as  puddun!" — 
An'  Uncle  Bob  says  "you're  a  good-un— 
'Cause  he  can  tell  by  yer  nose!"— 


PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLE'S  APPEARANCE 

Didn'  he,  Charley?— An'  when  Belle' 11  play 
In  the  poller  on  th'  pianer,  some  day, 
Bob  makes  up  funny  songs  about  you, 
Till  she  gits  mad — like  he  wants  her  to ! 

Our  sister  Fanny  she's  'leven 

Years  old!     'At's  mucher  'an  / — 
Ain't  it,  Charley?  .    .   .  I'm  seven! — 
But  our  sister  Fanny's  in  heaven! 

Nere's  where  you  go  ef  you  die! — 
Don't  you,  Charley? — Nen  you  has  wings — 
1st  like  Fanny  I — an'  fiurtiest  things! — 
Don't  you,  Charley? — An'  nen  you  cany^y — 
IK  fly — an*  ever' thing!   .    .   .  Wisht/Wdie! 


SONG— FOR  NOVEMBER 

WHILE  skies  glint  bright  with  bluest  light 

Through  clouds  that  race  o'er  field  and  town, 
And  leaves  go  dancing  left  and  right, 

And  orchard  apples  tumble  down ; 
While  school-girls  sweet,  in  lane  or  street, 

Lean  'gainst  the  wind  and  feel  and  hear 
Its  glad  heart  like  a  lover's  beat, — 

So  reigns  the  rapture  of  the  year. 

Then  ho  I  and  hey!  and  whoop-hooray  I 
Though  winter  clouds  be  looming, 

Remember  a  November  day 

Is  merrier  than  mildest  May 

With  all  her  blossoms  blooming. 

While  birds  in  scattered  flight  are  blown 

Aloft  and  lost  in  bosky  mist, 
And  truant  boys  scud  home  alone 

'Neath  skies  of  gold  and  amethyst; 
196 


SONG FOR   NOVEMBER 

While  twilight  falls,  and  echo  calls 
Across  the  haunted  atmosphere, 

With  low,  sweet  laughs  at  intervals, — 
So  reigns  the  rapture  of  the  year. 

Then  ho  I  and  hey!  and  whoop-hooray  t 
Though  'winter  clouds  be  looming, 

Remember  a  November  day 

Is  merrier  than  mildest  May 
With  all  her  blossoms  blooming. 


HONEY  DRIPPING  FROM  THE  COMB 

How  slight  a  thing  may  set  one's  fancy  drifting 

Upon  the  dead  sea  of  the  Past!— A  view — 
Sometimes  an  odor — or  a  rooster  lifting 
A  far-off  "Oohl  ook-oohf 

And  suddenly  we  find  ourselves  astray 

In  some  wood's-pasture  of  the  Long  Ago — 
Or  idly  dream  again  upon  a  day 
Of  rest  we  used  to  know. 

I  bit  an  apple  but  a  moment  since — 

A  wilted  apple  that  the  worm  had  spurned, — 
Yet  hidden  in  the  taste  were  happy  hints 
Of  good  old  days  returned. — 

And  so  my  heart,  like  some  enraptured  lute, 

Tinkles  a  tune  so  tender  and  complete, 
God's  blessing  must  be  resting  on  the  fruit- 
So  bitter,  yet  so  sweet  I 


BILLY  COULD  RIDE 

I 

BILLY  was  born  for  a  horse's  back! — 
That's  what  Grandfather  used  to  say: — 
He'd  seen  him  in  dresses,  a-many  a  day, 
On  a  two-year-old,  in  the  old  barn-lot, 
Prancing  around,  with  the  bridle  slack, 
And  his  two  little  sunburnt  legs  outshot 
So  straight  from  the  saddle-seat  you'd  swear 
A  spirit-level  had  plumbed  him  there ! 
And  all  the  neighbors  that  passed  the  place 
Would  just  haul  up  in  the  road  and  stare 
To  see  the  little  chap's  father  boost 
The  boy  up  there  on  his  favorite  roost, 
To  canter  off,  with  a  laughing  face. — 
Put  him  up  there,  he  was  satisfied — 
And  O  the  way  that  Billy  could  ride ! 


199 


BILLY  COULD   RIDE 


n 


At  celebration  or  barbecue — 

And  Billy,  a  boy  of  fifteen  yean 

Couldn't  he  cut  his  didoes  there  ? — 

What  else  would  you  expect  him  to, 

On  his  little  mettlesome  chestnut  mare, 

With  her  slender  neck,  and  her  pointed  ears, 

And  the  four  little  devilish  hooves  of  hers  ? 

The  "delegation"  moved  too  slow 

For  the  time  that  Billy  wanted  to  go ! 

And  to  see  him  dashing  out  of  the  line 

At  the  edge  of  the  road  and  down  the  side 

Of  the  long  procession,  all  laws  defied, 

And  the  fife  and  drums,  was  a  sight  divine 

To  the  girls,  in  their  white-and-spangled  pride, 

Wearily  waving  their  scarfs  about 

In  the  great  "Big  Wagon,"  all  gilt  without 

And  jolt  within,  as  they  lumbered  on 

Into  the  town  where  Billy  had  gone 

An  hour  ahead,  like  a  knightly  guide — 

O  but  the  way  that  Billy  could  ride ! 


200 


BILLY   COULD    RIDE 
III 

"Billy  can  ride!     Oh,  Billy  can  ride! 

But  what  on  earth  can  he  do  beside?" 

That's  what  the  farmers  used  to  say, 

As  time  went  by  a  year  at  a  stride, 

And  Billy  was  twenty  if  he  was  a  day ! 

And  many  a  wise  old  father's  foot 

Was  put  right  down  where  it  should  be  put, 

While  many  a  dutiful  daughter  sighed 

In  vain  for  one  more  glorious  ride 

With  the  gallant  Billy,  who  none  the  less 

Smiled  at  the  old  man's  selfishness 

And  kissed  his  daughter,  and  rode  away, — 

Touched  his  horse  in  the  flank — and  zipp  I — 

Talk  about  horses  and  horsemanship ! — 

Folks  stared  after  him  just  wild-eyed.   .   .   . 

Oomh  I  the  way  that  Billy  could  ride ! 


201 


SHE  "DISPLAINS"  IT 

«HAD,  too!" 

" Hadn't,  neither!" 
So  contended  Bess  and  May — 

Neighbor  children,  who  were  boasting 
Of  their  grandmammas,  one  day. 

"Had,  too!'' 

"Hadn't,  neither!" 
All  the  difference  begun 

By  May's  saying  she'd  two  grandmas — 
While  poor  Bess  had  only  one. 

"Had,  too!" 

"Hadn't,  neither!" 
Tossing  curls,  and  kinks  of  friz ! — 

"How  could  you  have  two  gran'muvvers 
When  ist  one  is  all  they  is?" 

"Had,  too!" 

"Hadn't,  neither! — 
'Cause  ef  you  had  two,"  said  Bess, 

"You'd  displain  it !"  Then  May  answered, 
gran' mas  wuz  twins,  I  guess!" 
202 


THE   WAY   THE   BABY   SLEPT 

THIS  is  the  way  the  baby  slept : 
A  mist  of  tresses  backward  thrown 

By  quavering  sighs  where  kisses  crept 
With  yearnings  she  had  never  known : 

The  little  hands  were  closely  kept 
About  a  lily  newly  blown — 

And  God  was  with  her.     And  we  wept. — • 

And  this  is  the  way  the  baby  slept. 


203 


THE   JOLLY   MILLER 
[Restored  Romaunt~\ 

IT  was  a  Jolly  Miller  lived  on  the  River  Dee ; 
He  looked  upon  his  piller,  and  there  he  found  a  flea ; 
"O  Mr.  Flea!  you  have  bit  me, 

And  you  shall  shorely  die!" 
So  he  scrunched  his  bones  ag'inst  the  stones — 

And  there  he  let  him  lie ! 

'Twas  then  the  Jolly  Miller  he  laughed  and  told 

his  wife, 
And  she  laughed  fit  to  kill  her,  and  dropped  her 

carving-knife ! — 
"O  Mr.  Flea!"     "Ho-ho!"     "Tee-hee!" 

They  both  laughed  fit  to  kill, 
Until  the  sound  did  almost  drownd 
The  rumble  of  the  mill ! 


204 


THE   JOLLY   MILLER 

"Laugh  on,  my  Jolly  Miller!  and  Missus  Miller, 

tool- 
But  there's  a  weeping-wilier  will  soon  wave  over 

youT9 

The  voice  was  all  so  awful  small— 
So  very  small  and  slim ! — 
He  durst'  infer  that  it  was  her, 
Ner  her  infer  'twas  him ! 

That  night  the  Jolly  Miller,  says  he,  "It's,  Wifey 

dear, 
That  cat  o'  yourn,  I'd  kill  her! — her  actions  is  so 

queer, — 
She's  rubbin'  'g'inst  the  grindstone-legs, 

And  yowlin'  at  the  sky — 
And  I  'low  the  moon  hain't  greener 
Than  the  yaller  of  her  eye!" 

And  as  the  Jolly  Miller  went  chuckle-un  to  bed, 
Was  Somepin*  jerked  his  piller  from  underneath 

his  head! 
"  O  Wife,"  says  he,  on-easi-lee, 

"  Fetch  here  that  lantern  there!" 
But  Somepiri*  moans  in  thunder-tones, 
u  You  tetch  it  ef  you  dare!" 
2O5 


THE   JOLLY    MILLER 

'Twas  then  the  Jolly  Miller  he  trimbled  and  he 

quailed — 
And  his  wife  choked  until  her  breath  come  back, 

'n'  she  wailed! 
And  "  Of"  cried  she,  "it  is  the  Flea, 

All  white  and  pale  and  wann — 
He's  got  you  in  his  clutches,  and 
He's  bigger  than  a  man!" 

"Ho!  ho!  my  Jolly  Miller"  (fer  'twas  the  Flea, 

fer  shore!) , 
"  I  reckon  you'll  not  rack  my  bones  ner  scrunch 

'em  any  more!" 
Then  the  Flea- Ghost  he  grabbed  him  clos't, 

With  many  a  ghastly  smile, 
And  from  the  door-step  stooped  and  hopped 
About  four  hundred  mile  1 


206 


WITH  THE  CURRENT 

RAREST  mood  of  all  the  year ! 
Aimless,  idle,  and  content — 
Sky  and  wave  and  atmosphere 
Wholly  indolent. 

Little  daughter,  loose  the  band 

From  your  tresses — let  them  pour 
Shadow-like  o'er  arm  and  hand 
Idling  at  the  oar. 

Low  and  clear,  and  pure  and  deep, 

Ripples  of  the  river  sing — 
Water-lilies,  half  asleep, 

Drowsed  with  listening: 

Tremulous  reflex  of  skies — 

Skies  above  and  skies  below,— 
Paradise  and  Paradise 

Blending  even  so  I 
207 


WITH    THE    CURRENT 

Blossoms  with  their  leaves  unrolled 

Laughingly,  as  they  were  lips 
Cleft  with  ruddy  beaten  gold 
Tongues  of  pollen-tips. 

Rush  and  reed,  and  thorn  and  vine, 

Clumped  with  grasses  lithe  and  tall- 
With  a  web  of  summer-shine 
Woven  round  it  all. 

Back  and  forth,  and  to  and  fro — 

Flashing  scale  and  wing  as  one,— 
Dragon-flies  that  come  and  go, 
Shuttled  by  the  sun. 

Fairy  lilts  and  lullabies, 

Fine  as  fantasy  conceives, — 
Echoes  wrought  of  cricket-cries 
Sifted  through  the  leaves. 

O'er  the  rose,  with  drowsy  buzz, 

Hangs  the  bee,  and  stays  his  kiss. 
Even  as  my  fancy  does, 
Gypsy,  over  this. 

208 


WITH    THE    CURRENT 

Let  us  both  be  children — share 

Youth's  glad  voyage  night  and  day, 
Drift  adown  it,  half  aware, 
Anywhere  we  may. — 

Drift  and  curve  and  deviate, 

Veer  and  eddy,  float  and  flow, 
Waver,  swerve  and  undulate, 
As  the  bubbles  go. 


209 


A  SLEEPING  BEAUTY 


AN  alien  wind  that  blew  and  blew 

Over  the  fields  where  the  ripe  grain  grew, 

Sending  ripples  of  shine  and  shade 

That  crept  and  crouched  at  her  feet  and  played, 

The  sea-like  summer  washed  the  moss 
Till  the  sun-drenched  lilies  hung  like  floss, 

Draping  the  throne  of  green  and  gold 
That  lulled  her  there  like  a  queen  of  old. 

II 

Was  it  the  hum  of  a  bumblebee, 
Or  the  long-hushed  bugle  eerily 

Winding  a  call  to  the  daring  Prince 
Lost  in  the  wood  long  ages  since  ?— 
210 


A    SLEEPING    BEAUTY 

A  dim  old  wood,  with  a  palace  rare 
Hidden  away  in  its  depths  somewhere ! 

Was  it  the  Princess,  tranced  in  sleep, 
Awaiting  her  lover's  touch  to  leap 

Into  the  arms  that  bent  above  ? — 

To  thaw  his  heart  with  the  breath  of  love — 

And  cloy  his  lips,  through  her  waking  tears, 
With  the  dead-ripe  kiss  of  a  hundred  years! 


Ill 


An  alien  wind  that  blew  and  blew. — 
I  had  blurred  my  eyes  as  the  artists  do, 

Coaxing  life  to  a  half-sketched  face, 
Or  dreaming  bloom  for  a  grassy  place. 

The  bee  droned  on  in  an  undertone ; 
And  a  shadow-bird  trailed  all  alone 

Across  the  wheat,  while  a  liquid  cry 
Dripped  from  above,  as  it  went  by. 

211 


A    SLEEPING    BEAUTY 

What  to  her  was  the  far-off  whir 

Of  the  quail's  quick  wing  or  the  chipmunk's  chirr  ?- 

What  to  her  was  the  shade  that  slid 
Over  the  hill  where  the  reapers  hid  ? — 

Or  what  the  hunter,  with  one  foot  raised, 
As  he  turned  to  go — yet,  pausing,  gazed  ? 


212 


AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE 

ONE  time,  when  we'z  at  Aunty's  house — 

'Way  in  the  country ! — where 
They's  ist  but  woods — an'  pigs,  an'  cows — 

An'  all's  outdoors  an'  air! — 
An'  orchurd-swing ;   an'  churry-trees — 
An'  churries  in  'em! — Yes,  an'  these- 
Here  redhead  birds  steals  all  they  please, 

An'  tetch  'em  ef  you  dare! — 
W'y,  wunst,  one  time,  when  we  wuz  there, 
We  et  out  on  the  £orch  I 

Wite  where  the  cellar  door  wuz  shut 

The  table  wuz  ;   an'  I 
Let  Aunty  set  by  me  an'  cut 

My  vittuls  up — an'  pie. 
'Tuz  awful  funny! — I  could  see 
The  redheads  in  the  churry-tree ; 
An'  beehives,  where  you  got  to  be 

So  keerful,  goin'  by; — 
An'  "Comp'ny"  there  an'  all! — an'  we — 
We  et  out  on  the  porch  ! 
213 


AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE 

An'  I  ist  et  p'surves  an'  things 

'At  Ma  don't  'low  me  to — 
An'  tkickun-gizzurds — (don't  like  wings 

Like  Parunts  does!  do  you?) 
An'  all  the  time  the  wind  blowed  there, 
An'  I  could  feel  it  in  my  hair, 
An'  ist  smell  clover  ever' where! — 

An'  a'  old  redhead  flew 
Purt'  nigh  wite  over  my  high-chair, 
When  we  et  on  the  porch  I 


214 


THE  WHITHERAWAYS 

[Set  Sail^  October  15,  1890] 

THE  Whitheraways ! — That's  what  I'll  have  to  call 
You — sailing  off,  with  never  a  word  at  all 
Of  parting! — mailing  'way  across  the  sea, 
With  never  one  good-bye  to  me — to  ME  ! 

Sailing  away  from  me,  with  no  farewell ! — 
Ah,  Parker  Hitt  and  sister  Muriel — 
And  Rodney,  too,  and  little  Laurance — all 
Sailing  away — just  as  the  leaves,  this  Fall ! 

Well,  then,  /too  shall  sail  on  cheerily 
As  now  you  all  go  sailing  o'er  the  sea: 
I've  other  little  friends  with  me  on  shore — 
Though  they  but  make  me  yearn  for  you  the  more ! 

And  so,  sometime,  dear  little  friends  afar, 
When  this  faint  voice  shall  reach  you,  and  you  are 
All  just  a  little  homesick,  you  must  be 
As  brave  as  I  am  now,  and  think  of  me ! 


THE    WHITHKRAWAYS 


Or,  haply,  if  your  eyes,  as  mine,  droop  low, 
And  would  be  humored  with  a  tear  or  so, — 
Go  to  your  Parents,  Children ! — let  them  do 
The  crying — 'twill  be  easier  for  them  to! 


2x6 


THE  RAGGEDY  MAN 

O  THE  Raggedy  Man !     He  works  fer  Pa ; 
An'  he's  the  goodest  man  ever  you  saw! 
He  comes  to  our  house  every  day, 
An'  waters  the  horses,  an'  feeds  'em  hay ; 
An'  he  opens  the  shed — an'  we  all  1st  laugh 
When  he  drives  out  our  little  old  wobble-ly  calf ; 
An'  nen — ef  our  hired  girl  says  he  can — 
He  milks  the  cow  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann. — 
Aint  he  a'  awful  good  Raggedy  Man  ? 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 

Wy,  The  Raggedy  Man — he's  ist  so  good 
He  splits  the  kindlin'  an'  chops  the  wood ; 
An'  nen  he  spades  in  our  garden,  too, 
An'  does  most  things  'at  boys  can't  do. — 
He  clumbed  clean  up  in  our  big  tree 
An'  shocked  a'  apple  down  fer  me — 
An'  nother'n,  too,  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann — 
An'  nother'n',  too,  fer  The  Raggedy  Man. — 
Aint  he  a'  awful  kind  Raggedy  Man  ? 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 
217 


THE    RAGGEDY   MAN 

An'  The  Raggedy  Man,  he  knows  most  rhymes 
An*  tells  'em,  ef  I  be  good,  sometimes: 
Knows  'bout  Gitmts,  an'  Griffuns,  an'  Elves, 
An'  the  Squidgicum-Squees  'at  swallers  ther- 

selves ! 

An',  wite  by  the  pump  in  our  pasture-lot, 
He  showed  me  the  hole  'at  the  Wunks  is  got, 
'At  lives  'way  deep  in  the  ground,  an'  can 
Turn  into  me,  er'  Lizabuth  Ann ! 
Aint  he  a  funny  old  Raggedy  Man  ? 

Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 

The  Raggedy  Man — one  time  when  he 
Was  makin'  a  little  bow-'n'-orry  fer  me, 
Says  "When you're  big  like  your  Pa  is, 
Air  you  go*  to  keep  a  fine  store  like  his — 
An'  be  a  rich  merchunt — an'  wear  fine  clothes  ? — 
Er  what  air  you  go'  to  be,  goodness  knows!" 
An'  nen  he  laughed  at  'Lizabuth  Ann, 
An'  I  says  "  'M  go'  to  be  a  Raggedy  Man! — 
I'm  ist  go*  to  be  a  nice  Raggedy  Man!" 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 


218 


A   BOY'S   MOTHER 

MY  Mother  she's  so  good  to  me, 
Ef  I  was  good  as  I  could  be, 
I  couldn't  be  as  good — no,  sir! — 
Can't  any  boy  be  good  as  her! 

She  loves  me  when  I'm  glad  er  sad ; 
She  loves  me  when  I'm  good  er  bad; 
An',  what's  a  funniest  thing,  she  says 
She  loves  me  when  she  punishes. 

I  don't  like  her  to  punish  me. — 
That  don't  hurt, — but  it  hurts  to  see 
Her  cryin'. — Nen  /cry;  an'  nen 
We  both  cry  an'  be  good  again. 

She  loves  me  when  she  cuts  an'  sews 
My  little  cloak  an'  Sund'y  clothes ; 
An'  when  my  Pa  comes  home  to  tea, 
She  loves  him  most  as  much  as  me. 

She  laughs  an'  tells  him  all  I  said, 
An'  grabs  me  up  an'  pats  my  head ; 
An'  I  hug  her,  an'  hug  my  Pa 
An'  love  him  purt'  nigh  as  much  as  Ma. 
219 


IN  SWIMMING-TIME 

CLOUDS  above,  as  white  as  wool, 

Drifting  over  skies  as  blue 
As  the  eyes  of  beautiful 

Children  when  they  smile  at  you : 
Groves  of  maple,  elm,  and  beech, 

With  the  sunshine  sifted  through 
Branches,  mingling  each  with  each, 

Dim  with  shade  and  bright  with  dew. 

Stripling  trees,  and  poplars  hoar, 
Hickory  and  sycamore, 
And  the  drowsy  dogwood,  bowed 
Where  the  ripples  laugh  aloud, 
And  the  crooning  creek  is  stirred 

To  a  gaiety  that  now 
Mates  the  warble  of  the  bird. 

Teetering  on  the  hazel-bough, 

220 


IN    SWIMMING-TIME 

Grasses  long  and  fine  and  fair 

As  your  schoolboy-sweetheart's  hair 

Backward  stroked  and  twirled  and  twined 

By  the  fingers  of  the  wind : 

Vines  and  mosses  interlinked 

Down  dark  aisles  a.nd  deep  ravines, 
Where  the  stream  runs,  willow-brinked, 

Round  a  bend  where  some  one  leans, 
Faint,  and  vague,  and  indistinct 

As  the  like-reflected  thing 

In  the  current  shimmering. 

Childish  voices,  further  on, 
Where  the  truant  stream  has  gone, 
Vex  the  echoes  of  the  wood 
Till  no  word  is  understood — 
Save  that  we  are  well  aware 
Happiness  is  hiding  there: — 
There,  in  leafy  coverts,  nude 

Little  bodies  poise  and  leap, 
Spattering  the  solitude 
And  the  silence,  everywhere — 

Mimic  monsters  of  the  deep  I— 


221 


IN    SWIMMING-TIME 

Wallowing  in  sandy  shoals — 

Plunging  headlong  out  of  sight, 
And,  with  spurtings  of  delight, 

Clutching  hands,  and  slippery  soles, 
Climbing  up  the  treacherous  steep, 

Over  which  the  spring-board  spurns 

Each  again  as  he  returns! 

Ah !   the  glorious  carnival ! 

Purple  lips — and  chattering  teeth- 
Eyes  that  burn — But,  in  beneath, 

Every  care  beyond  recall— 

Every  task  forgotten  quite — 
And  again  in  dreams  at  night, 

Dropping,  drifting  through  it  all ! 


222 


THE  FISHING  PARTY 

WUNST  we  went  a-fishin' — Me 
An'  my  Pa  an'  Ma  all  three, 
When  they  was  a  pic-nic,  'way 
Out  to  Hanch's  Woods,  one  day. 

An'  they  was  a  crick  out  there, 
Where  the  fishes  is,  an'  where 
Little  boys  'taint  big  an'  strong, 
Better  have  their  folks  along ! 

My  Pa  he  ist  fished  an'  fished ! 
An'  my  Ma  she  said  she  wished 
Me  an'  her  was  home ;   an'  Pa 
Said  he  wished  so  worse'n  Ma. 

Pa  said  ef  you  talk,  er  say 
Anything,  er  sneeze,  er  play, 
Hain't  no  fish,  alive  er  dead, 
Ever  go'  to  bite !   he  said. 

223 


THE    FISHING    PARTY 

Purt'  nigh  dark  in  town  when  we 
Got  back  home;   an'  Ma  says  she, 
Now  she'll  have  a  fish  fer  shore! 
An'  she  buyed  one  at  the  store. 

Nen  at  supper,  Pa  he  won't 
Eat  no  fish,  an'  says  he  don't 
Like  'em. — An'  he  pounded  me 
When  I  choked!   .  .   .  Ma,  didn't  he? 


224 


THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM 

THE  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm,  he's  not 

Afeard  o'  horses  none! 
An'  he  can  make  'em  lope,  er  trot, 

Er  rack,  er  pace,  er  run. 
Sometimes  he  drives  two  horses,  when 

He  comes  to  town  an*  brings 
A  wagon-full  o'  'taters  nen, 

An'  roastin'-ears  an'  things. 

Two  horses  is  "a  team,"  he  says, — 

An'  when  you  drive  er  hitch, 
The  right-un's  a  "near-horse,"  I  guess, 

Er  "off" — I  don't  know  which. — 
The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm,  he  told 

Me,  too,  'at  he  can  see, 
By  lookin'  at  their  teeth,  how  old 

A  horse  is,  to  a  Tl 

15  225 


THE    BOY   LIVES    ON    OUR    FARM 

I'd  be  the  gladdest  boy  alive 

Ef  I  knowed  much  as  that, 
An*  could  stand  up  like  him  an'  drive, 

An'  ist  push  back  my  hat, 
Like  he  comes  skallyhootin'  through 

Our  alley,  with  one  arm 
A-wavin'  Fare-ye-well !  to  you— 

The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm ! 


THE  RUNAWAY  BOY 

WUNST  I  sassed  my  Pa,  an*  he 
Won't  stand  that,  an'  punished  me, — 
Nen  when  he  was  gone  that  day, 
I  slipped  out  an'  runned  away. 

I  tooked  all  my  copper-cents, 
An'  clumbed  over  our  back  fence 
In  the  jimpson-weeds  'at  growed 
Ever'where  all  down  the  road. 

Nen  I  got  out  there,  an'  nen 

I  runned  some — an'  runned  again 

When  I  met  a  man  'at  led 

A  big  cow  'at  shocked  her  head. 

I  went  down  a  long,  long  lane 
Where  was  little  pigs  a-play'n' ; 
An'  a  grea'-big  pig  went  "Booh!" 
An'  jumped  up,  an'  skeered  me  too. 

Nen  I  scampered  past,  an'  they 
Was  somebody  hollered  "  Hey!" 
An'  I  ist  looked  ever'where, 
An'  they  was  nobody  there. 
227 


THE    RUNAWAY    BOY 

I  want  to,  but  I'm  'fraid  to  try 
To  go  back.  .  .  .An*  by-an'-by, 
Somepin'  hurts  my  throat  inside — 
An*  I  want  my  Ma — an'  cried. 

Nen'  a  grea'-big  girl  come  through 
Where's  a  gate,  an'  telled  me  who 
Am  I?  an'  ef  I  tell  where 
My  home's  at  she'll  show  me  there. 

But  I  couldn't  ist  but  tell 
What's  my  name;  an'  she  says  well, 
An'  she  tooked  me  up  an'  says 
She  know  where  I  live,  she  guess. 

Nen  she  telled  me  hug  wite  close 
Round  her  neck ! — an'  off  she  goes 
Skippin'  up  the  street!     An'  nen 
Purty  soon  I'm  home  again. 

An'  my  Ma,  when  she  kissed  me, 
Kissed  the  big  girl  too,  an'  she 
Kissed  me — ef  I  p'omise  shore 
I  won't  run  away  no  more! 

228 


OUR  HIRED  GIRL 

OUR  hired  girl,  she's  'Lizabuth  Ann; 

An'  she  can  cook  best  things  to  eat! 
She  ist  puts  dough  in  our  pie-pan, 

An'  pours  in  somepin'  'at's  good  and  sweet, 
An'  nen  she  salts  it  all  on  top 
With  cinnamon ;  an'  nen  she'll  stop 

An'  stoop  an'  slide  it,  ist  as  slow, 
In  th'  old  cook-stove,  so's  'twont  slop 

An'  git  all  spilled ;  nen  bakes  it,  so 

It's  custard  pie,  first  thing  you  know! 
An'  nen  she'll  say: 

"Clear  out  o'  my  way! 

They's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! — 
Take  yer  dough,  an'  run,  Child  ;  run ! 
Er  I  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done!" 

When  our  hired  girl  'tends  like  she's  mad, 
An'  says  folks  got  to  walk  the  chalk 

When  she's  around,  er  wisht  they  had, 
I  play  out  on  our  porch  an'  talk 
229 


OUR    HIRED    GIRL 

To  th'  Raggedy  Man  'at  mows  our  lawn; 
An'  he  says  "  Whew!"  an'  nen  leans  on 

His  old  crook-scythe,  and  blinks  his  eyes 
An'  sniffs  all  round  an'  says, — "I  swawn! 
Ef  my  old  nose  don't  tell  me  lies, 
It  'pears  like  I  smell  custard-pies!" 

An'  nen  he'll  say, — 
u  'Clear  out  o'  my  way! 
They's  time  fer  work  an'  time  fer  play! 

Take  yer  dough,  an'  run,  Child;  run! 
Er  she  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done!'  " 

Wunst  our  hired  girl,  when  she 
Got  the  supper,  an'  we  all  et, 
An'  it  was  night,  an'  Ma  an*  me 

An'  Pa  went  wher'  the  "Social"  met,— 
An'  nen  when  we  come  home,  an'  see 
A  light  in  the  kitchen-door,  an'  we 

Heerd  a  maccordeun,  Pa  says  "Lan'- 
O'-Gracious!  who  can  her  beau  be?" 
An'  I  marched  in,  an*  'Lizabuth  Ann 
Wuz  parchin'  corn  fer  the  Raggedy  Man ! 

Better  say 

"Clear  out  o'  the  way! 
230 


OUR   HIRED    GIRL 


They's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! 

Take  the  hint,  an'  run,  Child;  run! 
Er  we  cain't  git  no  courtiri*  done  I" 


231 


ENVOY 

MANY  pleasures  of  Youth  have  been  buoyantly 

sung— 
And,  borne  on  the  winds  of  delight,  may  they 

beat 
With  their  palpitant  wings  at  the  hearts  of  the 

Young, 

And  in  bosoms  of  Age  find  as  warm  a  retreat! — 
Yet  sweetest  of  all  of  the  musical  throng, 

Though  least  of  the  numbers  that  upward  aspire, 
Is  the  one  rising  now  into  wavering  song, 
As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

'Tis  a  Winter  long  dead  that  beleaguers  my  door 

And  muffles  his  steps  in  the  snows  of  the  past : 
And  I  see,  in  the  embers  I'm  dreaming  before, 

Lost  faces  of  love  as  they  looked  on  me  last: — 
The  round,  laughing  eyes  of  the  desk-mate  of  old 

Gleam  out  for  a  moment  with  truant  desire — 
Then  fade  and  are  lost  in  a  City  of  Gold, 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 
232 


ENVOY 

And  then  comes  the  face,  peering  back  in  my  own, 

Of  a  shy  little  girl,  with  her  lids  drooping  low, 
As  she  faltering  tells,  in  a  far-away  tone, 

The  ghost  of  a  story  of  long,  long  ago. — 
Then  her  dewy  blue  eyes  they  are  lifted  again ; 

But  I  see  their  glad  light  slowly  fail  and  expire, 
As  I  reach  and  cry  to  her  in  vain,  all  in  vain! — 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

Then  the  face  of  a  Mother  looks  back,  through  the 

mist 
Of  the  tears  that  are  welling ;  and,  lucent  with 

light, 
I  see  the  dear  smile  of  the  lips  I  have  kissed 

As  she  knelt  by  my  cradle  at  morning  and  night ; 
And  my  arms  are  outheld,  with  a  yearning  too  wild 

For  any  but  God  in  His  love  to  inspire, 
As  she  pleads  at  the  foot  of  His  throne  for  her 

child,— 
As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

O  pathos  of  rapture !   O  glorious  pain ! 
My  heart  is  a  blossom  of  joy  overrun 


ENVOY 

With  a  shower  of  tears,  as  a  lily  with  rain 

That  weeps  in  the  shadow  and  laughs  in  the 
sun. 

The  blight  of  the  frost  may  descend  on  the  tree, 
And  the  leaf  and  the  flower  may  fall  and  expire. 

But  ever  and  ever  love  blossoms  for  me, 
As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 


334 


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